


How you see me

by BlushLouise



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cliffjumper is an aft, Disfigurement, Facial Scars, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Hound helps, Learning to trust, M/M, Making Friends, Ostracism, Ratchet is a matchmaker, Slow Romance, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Unexpected Friendship, and he didn't even mean to, mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushLouise/pseuds/BlushLouise
Summary: Sometimes, you find something you didn't even know you were missing. For Wheeljack and Mirage, a chance cooperation is the beginning of more than either of them knew they were looking for. And as Wheeljack learns to see the mech behind the invisibility, and Mirage begins to rely on the solid strength beneath the mask, they turn out to be just what the other needed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eerian_sadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/gifts).



> For eerian_sadow, who mentioned this pairing on Tumblr. You inspired this, so it's yours.
> 
> This will update on Wednesdays. Every week if I can manage, every other if not.

At the final push of a button, the holographic model erupted in fairly lifelike flames. A tinny voice accompanied the explosion, and the ‘Bam! Boom! Ka-pow!’ almost drowned out the dull thunk of Wheeljack’s head hitting the tabletop.

The holographic model generator was a good idea. It really was. And the fake explosions were more interesting than the previous fail message had been.

He could have done without the recorded Warpath-style sound effects, though.

“So what happened this time?”

He didn’t lift his head from the table top. Ratchet had seen him in worse situations.

“It functions perfectly until I change the specs to imitate the actual energy output that the shield can draw from,” he muttered. “Then it triggers a catastrophic malfunction and – well.”

He could hear Ratchet stepping closer. “Well, at least it’s just a holographic boom.”

He sat back up, shook off the disappointment. He could try again later. “Yeah. So what brings you here, Ratch?”

In response, the medic plonked a sealed energon cube down on the table in front of him. “You haven’t fueled since yesterday.”

Wheeljack smirked, though the mask concealed most of his expression. He knew his friend could see it, though. “Hey pot, I’m kettle. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I have someone who makes sure I fuel appropriately,” Ratchet said, shooting him a pointed glare. “You are far more likely to run yourself into stasis from lack of a basic fueling regime than I am.”

…well, he had a point. “Thanks, Ratch.”

“Sure. So do you know where the problem is?”

Wheeljack deactivated the flames, bringing the simulation back to base specs. At least cleanup was much simpler now. And he didn’t find himself blasted to pieces nearly as often. “No, and it’s annoying. When I don’t have limitations on the energy input, it works just as it should. And then, when I connect it to the base energy grid with all its limitations and specifications…. Boom.”

“Huh. So the energy consumption rate is too high, maybe.”

Wheeljack nodded slowly, then glanced at Ratchet. “Becoming an engineer in your spare time, Ratchet?”

The medic smirked. “I’ve listened to your post-explosion complaints for vorn, ‘Jack. I was bound to learn something at some point. Besides, this is based on Trailbreaker’s force field, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, with a bit of input from Hound’s holomatter generator,” Wheeljack replied. “Mainly as a model to enlarge the sheer scope of the shield.”

“So you probably inherited ‘Breaker’s fuel consumption requirements,” Ratchet mused, prodding at the model and seemingly unbothered by the way his finger went straight through it. “He’s got one of the highest on base.”

“Damn,” Wheeljack sighed. “When you say it, I do remember that. I tried to alleviate it using Hound’s specs, but it doesn’t seem to have been enough.” He should have put more thought into that earlier, though. Maybe his mind was actually slowing due to lack of fuel.

“Want my advice? Talk to Mirage,” Ratchet said, his fingers messing with the holomodel again.

Wheeljack’s optic ridges lifted. “Mirage? Why?”

“Because he’s using his electro-disruptor without it changing his fuel intake,” Ratchet replied. “You want fuel efficiency, you need look no further than to Mirage.”

“Huh.” Wheeljack looked as Ratchet somehow triggered the meltdown again, along with the annoying tinny narrator. “Maybe I’ll have to talk to him, then.”

 

It took a few days before Wheeljack was able to talk to Mirage. He’d practiced what he was going to say – not that he was nervous, but he had never really talked to the noblemech before and Mirage was reportedly prickly. Wheeljack didn’t want to start it all off by offending him.

Thankfully, when he finally tracked the spy down, he was in the rec room with Hound and Trailbreaker. So Wheeljack drew a cube from the dispenser and walked towards their table, still going over his words in his head.

“Hey mechs, mind if I join you?”

“Hey Wheeljack!” Hound smiled and nodded towards the free chair. “Sure, go ahead. So how’s that project of yours going?”

He seized the opening gratefully. “It goes good, and then it goes up in flames. Repeatedly.”

“That must be frustrating,” the green mech replied. “Do you know why?”

Wheeljack glanced at Trailbreaker. “I have problems managing the energy input required.”

The black mech snorted. It was a curiously human sound, but Wheeljack felt it was very appropriate. “Now that sounds familiar. It’s the main reason I only use my field when I have to.”

“Pardon me, but what project is this?” Mirage asked politely.

It was a better start than he would have hoped for. Although he felt a bit bad that he’d let the conversation go over Mirage’s helm already. “I’m trying to generate a stronger defensive base shield,” Wheeljack explained, turning towards the noble. “The one we have now is based on the Ark’s preexisting space shielding, and it’s not functioning optimally in atmospheric conditions. The charged electrons in Earth’s weather are wreaking havoc on the shield generator.”

“I see,” Mirage replied distantly, sipping at his cube. Wheeljack strangled the impulse to frown at the other mech – he needed his help, so making him angry would be counterproductive, but the slightly dismissive tone was too arrogant for his liking.

“Wheeljack has been working with both of us,” Trailbreaker put in. “Mainly me, to find out what makes my shielding work. But since I can’t keep my shielding up without twice the energon consumption of everyone else…” The black mech shrugged. “Maybe I wasn’t the best mech to use for this.”

“You were definitely the best mech to use for this,” Wheeljack replied, shaking his head. “As I said, it works. Until I connect it to the base energy output. The limitations put on it makes it throw one pit of a back surge, and then it blows up the base.”

Three sets of optics stared at him. He chuckled grimly. “Yeah, I know, that part is not so good.” _Here goes nothing_. “Actually, Mirage,” he turned back to the noblemech, “you might be able to help.”

“I would?” Mirage repeated, politely curious. “How would I be of assistance?”

“You’re powering that electro-disruptor without it affecting your fuel requirements,” Wheeljack replied plainly. “If I could duplicate your fuel conversion rate, maybe I could get it to work.”

Mirage was instantly defensive. “Scientists have studied my disruptor before. It cannot be replicated.”

“I’m not asking to look at the disruptor itself,” Wheeljack replied, lifting his hands placatingly. “I was just hoping to examine its energy requirements and how your system prioritizes the energy output when you’re using it. Maybe it can give me some ideas.”

“It’s okay, ‘Raj,” Hound said softly. “It won’t be like back then.”

What a curious thing to say. Wheeljack hoped he wasn’t exacerbating something bad for Mirage with this request – then again, Ratchet probably wouldn’t have aimed him at Mirage if that was a problem.

Mirage looked at the green mech, then turned his focus back to Wheeljack. The intensity of that look was enough to make him lean backwards a bit. “Just the energy requirements?”

“I promise,” Wheeljack replied. “I just want to know if there’s anything I can tweak in my model to make it run more efficiently. I’d need to monitor your systems through a series of tests, take a look at the disruptor’s energy capacitor and maybe look at that part of the coding, but that’s all.”

“It would be very helpful, ‘Raj,” Hound put in. “You could make a serious difference.”

Okay, there was definitely something here he was missing. Now was not the time to pry, though.

Mirage once again looked from mech to mech before sighing. “All right. I suppose I must do what I can to help. What time would you need me to come by?”

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Wheeljack replied, helmfins blinking merrily and concealing the slight trepidation he felt at Mirage’s obvious discomfort. “If you’re free, that is?”

He watched as Mirage looked down at his empty cube. The noblemech seemed almost apprehensive. _Is it so repulsive to him, what I asked him to do?_

“I suppose that would be acceptable. Hound, Trailbreaker, thank you for the company. Shall I see you on the morrow?”

“Sure thing, ‘Raj,” Hound replied with a grin. “You can comm me later if you need to.”

“Thanks for helping, Mirage,” Trailbreaker added with an small smile. “Maybe if ‘Jack can figure his shield out he can help me with mine, too.”

“Sure thing,” Wheeljack replied easily. “I’ll let you know, okay?” He stood, subspaced his still full cube. “See you around, mechs.” Then he turned to the door and hoped Mirage would follow.

 

Mirage couldn’t calm down properly, even after they arrived in Wheeljack’s lab. Perhaps especially since they arrived in the lab. The scientist was tottering around him, pulling out wires, connectors and equipment from piles in the organized chaos around him and talking all the while. Mirage kept half an audio focused on the inventor, but so far the mech was just making small talk.

He took a step closer to the holographic rendition of the base. The model was frozen with the shield partly deployed. “Is this it?”

“Yep, that’s it,” Wheeljack replied happily. “My newest problem. I think it would make a great difference if I can only get it to work right.” He walked closer, and Mirage had to stop himself from stepping away. “So I’m very grateful that you would help me out.”

“Of course,” Mirage replied neutrally. “Where do you need me?”

“Oh, here,” the scientist replied, indicating an empty space in the center of the floor. “If you’d stand there for a few moments, I’ll hook you up.”

Mirage stood, focusing on keeping his venting even and balanced. It would be all right – Hound wouldn’t have asked him to do this if he didn’t trust the erratic inventor. And he could always go through his own systems and code afterwards, make sure everything was as it should be.

He was relieved and gratified to find that Wheeljack had a habit of talking as he worked. The inventor narrated, and it sounded like a habit. Everything he did was named and explained, and although Mirage didn’t understand everything, he understood enough to know that this part truly was only monitoring.

It was a comfort.

“Okay, I need a baseline first,” Wheeljack said. “Would you move a little, please? As much as the wires will allow?”

Mirage felt more than a little foolish, but he walked a bit in place and swung his arms. “Like so?”

“Perfect,” Wheeljack replied, helmfins blinking merrily. “And thank you for not just swinging madly around you. I had to replace most of the wires after Hound did that. He tried to dance.”

Mirage chuckled lightly at that. “I have seen what he calls dancing. My condolences.”

Wheeljack grinned – at least Mirage thought that that’s what the twinkling helmfins meant. “Yeah, I bet it’s a far cry from what you know as dancing, huh?”

“As far as I know, it’s a far cry from what anyone would call dancing,” Mirage replied dryly. “I have even tried teaching him, to no avail. I fear the mech simply doesn’t have the sense of rhythm necessary.”

The inventor laughed. “True. Okay, engage the disruptor, please.”

Mirage felt more comfortable as he was allowed to fade away.

“Fascinating,” Wheeljack murmured, staring at his equipment. “It barely spikes at all. Are you moving or standing still now?”

“Standing still,” Mirage replied, watching curiously as the other mech made notes and adjusted dials. “Do you want me to move?”

Wheeljack nodded. “Please. Ah, see, there it spikes a bit.” He lit up the room with one of those twinkling smiles again. “You know, you’re a marvel, Mirage. I can’t even hear you moving. Is that a spec ops thing or have you always been running silent?”

“I was designed for beauty and grace,” Mirage replied truthfully. And a little shamefully - he could admit that to himself now that his image was disrupted and the blush on his cheeks couldn’t be seen. “A silent frame was part of that.”

“It’s very impressive,” Wheeljack said, still twinkling and studying his readouts. “To be this efficient, and still run so silently… The engineering put into your frame is first rate, really. I’m grateful that you’d let me study you.”

Mirage blushed. Did the inventor not hear himself? He’d been complimented on his frame before, often enough really that it had no impact on him anymore, but Wheeljack didn’t seem to know he was even giving a compliment. He acted more like he was pointing out facts of genuine interest to him.

“Are you getting any useful results, then?” He tried to keep his tone neutral, and any mech who didn’t know him would have said he succeeded.

“Yeah, this is great,” Wheeljack replied, blinking that smile at him again. “In fact, I think it’s enough. I’d like to look at that capacitor too, if that’s possible?”

Mirage nodded, then deactivated his disruptor and nodded again. “Certainly.” He hoped the color had faded from his cheeks.

If it hadn’t, Wheeljack didn’t comment on it. He disconnected all the wires as efficiently as he had connected them, talking all the while, and then gestured towards a chair. “Sit there, please?”

Mirage obliged with his usual grace, and was surprised and pleased again when Wheeljack didn’t give his frame any extra attention beyond what he needed to make sure the few remaining wires didn’t tangle. No leers, no poorly hidden glances, no lewd jokes. It was refreshing and relieving not to have Wheeljack treat him like that. Maybe Hound had been right, and Wheeljack really was different. “How will you do this?”

The scientist picked up a datapad. “I need to connect this to the disruptor port and do some readings.”

Mirage braced himself. “All right.”

The scientist’s grey fingers against his plating almost made him flinch, and surprisingly, Wheeljack pulled back. “I’m sorry,” the scientist said contritely. “Shoulda warned you I was going to do that.”

Mirage couldn’t stop himself from staring at the inventor, no matter how rude it was. “What?”

“You’re spec ops,” Wheeljack explained. “I shoulda warned you I was going to touch you.”

“Oh,” Mirage said faintly. “I see. Well, I’m not as volatile as most of my unit, but I would still appreciate it.” For other reasons.

“Sure thing. I’m going to connect to the port now.”

Mirage made himself hold still and vent evenly.

“You’re not too thrilled about this, are ya?” Wheeljack asked softly. Mirage could feel his fingers moving against the disruptor on his shoulder and suppressed a wince.

“I am not,” he replied truthfully. “I hope I can be of assistance, of course, but I’m not overly enthusiastic about the process.”

“Well, I really do appreciate your help,” Wheeljack replied. “And I’ll try to make it as fast and easy as possible.”

They sat in silence for a while, until Mirage couldn’t bear the quiet any longer. He much preferred the distraction of Wheeljack’s conversation and blinking headfins. “It’s not so much this examination in itself,” he admitted. “I am glad to be of help, honestly.”

“Is it me?” Wheeljack asked, helmfins blinking in muted blues.

“No! No, it is not you, Wheeljack,” Mirage replied in surprise. “I am sorry if I’ve given you that impression. No, it’s… this. Being at the mercy of science.”

“You did say scientists have examined you before,” Wheeljack murmured. “Hold still for the connector prongs, please.”

“There have been previous attempts to replicate the disruptor technology. Suffice it to say that not all of them were comfortable.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Wheeljack replied in the same dulcet tones. He straightened, but left his hands on Mirage – one on the disruptor, one on his arm. “Wish I could say that mad scientists were a myth and we always have the best of everyone’s interest at spark, but I’d be lying.”

“As I said, it isn’t you,” Mirage repeated. “You cannot atone for the sins of others of your profession, Wheeljack.”

“But we’re Autobots, that’s what we do.” The helmfins twinkled merrily again, showing that Wheeljack wasn’t serious. “Atone for stuff that isn’t our fault, I mean. Prowl atones for the fall of Praxus plus every tactic that’s gone less than perfectly since then, Ratchet atones for every single life lost on the battlefield, Optimus atones for everything lost period, and Skyfire atones for Starscream.” He looked at Mirage then. “You… I suspect you atone for the sins of the Towers.”

That hit closer to home than Mirage appreciated. He hadn’t realized Wheeljack was so perceptive. “Those sins are mine to atone for. It is not an apt comparison.”

“They aren’t, though,” Wheeljack replied, giving Mirage’s arm a gentle squeeze. “The only sins you can atone for are your own. Now, I don’t know what you actually did back before the war, but I’m fairly sure you’ve done enough good since then to make up for all manner of nasty. Okay?”

Mirage didn’t know what to say. Wheeljack, apparently, took his silence for compliance, nodding and blinking that smile at him again. “Okay. I’ve got the readings I need. Disconnecting now.”

That… had been a lot easier than Mirage had expected. “All done?”

“All done,” Wheeljack confirmed as the plug was removed and cleared away. “I might have some follow-up questions though, you mind if I find you again?”

“Certainly.” Mirage stood gratefully. “As I said, I am glad to be able to help.”

“And as I said, I really appreciate it.” Those helmfins blinked again. “Give me a couple of days to tinker, and I’ll let you know how it goes, ‘kay?”

Mirage just nodded. He was pleasantly surprised at how painless and easy the whole process had been, but Wheeljack had him on edge. The scientist saw more than he had expected, and the things he said were confusing, to say the least.

He needed an evening of quiet after this. Maybe that would get his thoughts in order.


	2. Chapter 2

He might say that Earth was nice. Pleasant. Pretty colors, elegant artistry – though nothing compared to Golden Age Cybertron, of course.

But Mirage could never be completely enamored of a planet that took its name from the horrid, dusty, grainy, _dirty_ organic material that managed to enter every seam and itch like mad on every inch of his plating.

He was no Sunstreaker to obsess over the quality of his looks, but he really did prefer staying clean and at least presentable. A shift on patrol meant that he felt anything but. So, as usual after such occurrences, he headed directly for the wash racks.

It appeared that every other Autobot had had the same idea. The hallway outside the wash rack door was crowded on par with the rec room during one of Sideswipe’s parties. Mirage hesitated – this was no orderly queue where he could wait for his turn, but it was not tempting to press his way through the throng. And most of these mechs wouldn’t be friendly to him if he opened his mouth. Neither Hound nor Trailbreaker was here.

After a moment, he did spot a friendly face and headed in his direction. Bumblebee wasn’t one of his normal companions, but he was always nice. He might have made friends with the minibot if Bumblebee’s own friends weren’t so… crude.

“Hello, Bumblebee,” Mirage said politely. “What is going on?”

“Oh, hey, Mirage,” Bumblebee said, smiling up at him. “Wow, you just came in from patrol, huh? I noticed ‘Jumper was really dusty earlier, too. He wasn’t pleased. Of course, he’s even less pleased now.” He nodded towards the other minibot, and Mirage stared.

“He’s… pink.”

Bumblebee nodded. “Yeah, someone’s messed with the wash racks. They all sprout pink paint instead of water.” He snickered. “You should have seen Air Raid. He was Not Amused.”

Mirage could vividly imagine that. Then the full impact of Bumblebee’s words hit him. “Wait. _All_ of them? Every wash rack has been tampered with?”

“Every communal one,” Bumblebee corrected. “The officers’ ones haven’t been touched.”

“Even Sideswipe wouldn’t dare deny his brother’s access to a wash rack,” Windcharger commented next to them. “I bet they wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t have access to Ratchet’s quarters.”

Mirage’s mood tumbled to an even deeper low. He didn’t have any friends who were officers and could be asked to share wash racks with him. Jazz was his commanding officer and Mirage even called him a friend, but he was loath to intrude on his commander in the quarters he shared with Prowl. He had heard the noises coming out of there after the two had bonded, and did not want a closer look at that.

“I suppose I shall find a cloth then, make the best of it,” he sighed. “Thank you for letting me know, Bumblebee. Windcharger.”

“Bye, Mirage,” Bumblebee chirped brightly.

“Yeah, bye,” Windcharger said, already ignoring the taller Towers mech.

Mirage walked away. He didn’t have a specific destination in mind – it wasn’t tempting to drag all this dust and sand back into his own quarters, but he really didn’t know where else to go.

Wandering the hallways while waiting for someone to repair the wash racks would be as good a plan as any other, but walking with this grit in his seams was uncomfortable. He knew if he waited much longer that it would stop itching and start hurting.

Damn those twins and their infernal pranks!

He was deep in a fantasy of what exactly he would like to do to Sideswipe, none of it good, when a white blur whipped around the corner and knocked him flat on his back.

“Oh, slag! Mirage, I’m sorry!”

Grey hands took hold of his own and pulled him to his feet. When they tried to brush the dust from falling down off his plating, though, the resulting grit cloud was enough to clog both his own vents and those of whomever had bowled into him.

Mirage backed up and coughed to clear his vents. Not that it helped much.

He really, really, _really_ hated this planet.

“Whoa, that’s a lot of dust,” the other mech said. “Glad I have my mask, or my intake would be coated in the stuff.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” Mirage said acerbically. “That has been the highlight of my day.”

“Hey, why are you so dusty anyway?” Wheeljack said, because of course it was Wheeljack. Mirage could see the faintly blinking helmfins through the vestiges of the dust storm. Primus, he hadn’t thought he had _that_ much dust on him. “Shouldn’t you be in the wash racks?”

Mirage sighed. “That was the plan. But someone pranked them, and I’d rather not be covered in pink paint.”

“Pink paint? Heh, awesome.” Wheeljack chuckled. “I wonder how they rigged it. If they put the paint dispensers actually in the pipes, it could take ages to fix, and if it hardens in there we might need to replace the plumbing! Ha, maybe nobody’ll get a decent wash for days!”

Mirage just snarled at him. Primus, could the inventor really be this dense? Well, he didn’t have to stand there and listen to the idiocy. He turned on his heel to leave.

“Mirage! Wait!”

He turned, looked back with a raised optic ridge. “Why?” _Haven’t I been enough entertainment?_

Wheeljack rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly. _What a human gesture. Dry, dirty, moronic planet._ “Listen, I really am sorry. I shoulda looked where I was going, and I shouldn’ta made fun of you just now. It can’t be comfortable, being covered in that much dirt and grit.”

Mirage wanted to snark back again, but his upbringing took control of him. “I’m sorry as well. I shouldn’t have snarled at you.”

“Oh, I deserved that,” Wheeljack replied easily. “Listen, if you want, you can use the wash rack in my quarters. I don’t think the prankers got me.”

“Bumblebee said they only did the communal ones,” Mirage replied slowly. “Are you sure? It’s an awful lot of grit and dust to bring into your quarters.”

“I’m sure.” Helmfins blinked merrily at him. “It’s the least I can do after knocking you down like that. Come on, it’s not far. Those sand grains have to be irritating your plating by now.”

“I won’t deny that,” Mirage replied. “It really is very uncomfortable.”

“Well then, come on,” Wheeljack said, blinking a smile at him. “You can’t walk around like that, the grit will work it’s way into your systems. I’ve got energon, too, you must be parched.”

“That is very kind of you,” Mirage said, aiming for polite and coming out incredulous. “Thank you.”

Wheeljack waved a hand, dismissing the gratitude. “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do for a friend.”

…Friend?

They were… friends… now?

Well, that was unexpected.

Wheeljack’s quarters were at the end of a corridor in one of the lower parts of the Ark, not too far from his workshop. They were spartan, looked barely lived in. Much like Mirage’s own.

“The wash rack’s through there,” Wheeljack said. “There’s clean cloth on the shelf.”

“Thank you,” Mirage said softly, before stepping into the small room.

There was only barely room for him. He couldn’t quite imagine how Wheeljack fit – the engineer was of a height with him, but he was heavier, and his narrow spoiler-like doorwings had to make it a cramped fit.

Still, the water was warm. Bordering on overly hot, even, not that Mirage minded. It felt wonderful, and he could feel every taut cable and tired strut relaxing. He didn’t dawdle, but he didn’t hurry either.

After drying off, he stepped back into the main part of Wheeljack’s quarters. “Thank you. I may owe you my allegiance after that.”

Wheeljack grinned at him, helmfins blinking. “That good?”

“Heavenly,” Mirage admitted, subtly rotating his shoulders and suppressing a wince at the faint grind.

“C’mere.” Wheeljack said, pointing at a stool standing in front of his berth. “It sounds like you’ve got something stuck in there.”

“After all the sand that washed off me, I wouldn’t be surprised.” He sat delicately, keeping his weight centered on the stool. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Wheeljack replied easily. “I’m going to dig around in your seams a bit, okay? See if I can’t get it without plating needing to come off. Or Ratchet needing to become involved.”

“Primus forfend,” Mirage said, surprising himself with the smile that came easily to his lips. “I don’t need a lecture about not letting the grit of this miserable planet get into my gears. If he had to drive on those roads he would have had the same problem.”

Wheeljack hummed noncommittally. “Hold still, please.”

Mirage obeyed, and tried to ignore the invasive feeling of strange digits poking around under his plating.

“So,” Wheeljack said after a while. “Miserable planet?”

Oh no. “I meant no offense,” Mirage said diplomatically. “The dust and grit has made me irritable, that’s all.”

Wheeljack put a small pebble on the desk next to them. “You know, it’s okay to not like Earth.”

Mirage didn’t know what to say to that. In the few days since he’d been in Wheeljack’s lab, he’d managed to make himself forget how perceptive the scientist could be.

Wheeljack didn’t push for a response. “There’s more grit in here. I think I do need to remove part of the plating up here to get it out.”

Mirage winced. “If that is necessary.”

“We can go to medbay, if that makes you more comfortable.” Wheeljack’s hand squeezed his shoulder gently. “But I can take care of it right here and now, too.”

“Please. I’d rather not face Ratchet’s ire over this.”

Wheeljack chuckled. “He’s not that bad.”

Mirage raised an optic ridge at him. “I suppose it’s your reinforced, somewhat blast-proof plating that makes it easier for you to handle him. I have thin plating, and Ratchet chews right through it.” He in-vented deeply. “I’d ask you to be careful, though. It’s… not comfortable for me to remove my plating.”

“Of course. You’ll barely feel it.”

Mirage doubted that. He was feeling it already, and Wheeljack hadn’t even started yet.

“I was so surprised when we woke up on this planet,” Wheeljack said, sounding as if he was only making conversation. “It’s got such vibrant colors, and everywhere is soft. Hold still while I loosen this bolt, please. It took me a while to learn where I couldn’t walk if I didn’t want to sink into the ground. And of course, there are so many things they don’t just have here. I had to be real ingenious at first, making do with what this planet had. There’s another bolt here, I’m just going to loosen that.” He chuckled. “Ratchet had the same problem. You should have heard him ranting about the inferior quality of the materials here.”

“It was disorienting, at first,” Mirage said softly, wondering why he was even bothering talking about this. It never did any good. “Hound was always dragging me around to see this or that natural beauty, and all I could see was how wrong it all was. How is was soft where it should have been hard, dull where it should have been gleaming, gritty and fragmented where it should have been solid ground under my feet.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I still haven’t found my footing. I’m not sure I ever will.”

“I’m lifting the plating away now,” Wheeljack murmured, and his voice accompanied the brief tug to Mirage’s shoulder. “Earth can be _a_ home to us for a while, but it isn’t _the_ home. I know there are quite a few bots who love this planet on par with Cybertron and even above it, and that’s okay. But that means there’s room for the opposite, too. It’s okay to miss Cybertron, it’s okay to be homesick, it’s okay to not want to be on this planet any more than you have to. That doesn’t make you a Decepticon, no matter what Cliffjumper says.”

Mirage winced. So, so perceptive.

For a while, he didn’t know what to say. Wheeljack worked in everything but silence, though, narrating what he was doing in between snippets of gossip and comments about the weather and projects he was working on.

“Hang on,” he said suddenly, and Mirage tensed. “You’ve got a gear out of alignment here. No wonder it hurt to rotate your shoulder. This might sting a bit, are you okay with that?”

“I can take the pain,” Mirage replied, more calmly than he felt. He wasn’t nervous about the prospect of pain – it was the idea of Wheeljack’s fingers, of _anyone’s_ fingers really, that deep in his frame that caused problems.

Even so, he sat absolutely still as the inventor pushed and twisted the gears in his shoulder, until the inventor pulled his hand back with a triumphant “A-ha! Stubborn little slagger.” He lowered his palm, showing Mirage the good-sized pebble – almost a rock – that he had removed from his inner workings. “This little piece of the planet was stuck in among the gears surrounding your rotator cuff. It should feel much better now.” He dropped the pebble into Mirage’s palm.

He stared at the little piece of filth. “I really hate this planet,” he grumbled, then froze. “I am sorry. That was rude of me, and I assure you that it was but a momentary lapse.”

Wheeljack, however, just chuckled. _Chuckled_. “Yeah, sometimes I do too. You don’t have to apologize for saying what you feel. Now hold still for a little while longer while I get your plating back on.”

Mirage held still. But his mind was racing.

 

“Hey, ‘Raj,” Hound said, sitting down with an easy grin. “You’re not pink.”

“I am not,” Mirage agreed, sliding over the cube he had collected for his friend. “I escaped that fate, fortunately.”

“Thanks.” Hound picked up the energon eagerly, downing half the cube in one go under Mirage’s disapproving frown. Not that Hound cared that his mannerisms could be considered rude – he just chuckled at the look on his friend’s face as he put the cube down. “So how come you’re not pink?”

“I was warned in advance by Bumblebee,” Mirage replied. “And then I ran into Wheeljack. Or, more precisely, he ran into me. And he was kind enough to offer me the use of his private wash rack.” He paused, taking a sip of energon to buy himself a moment. Hound looked at him appraisingly, as if he knew there was more to it. “And then he helped me get the stuck pebbles out of my shoulder and realigned a gear,” Mirage added, as if it meant nothing.

Hound, though, knew better. He whistled. “You let him repair you? Wow, I’m proud of you, ‘Raj.”

“I have let others repair me before,” Mirage replied dryly. “Besides, Wheeljack offered. It would have been impolite to say no.”

“Well, you can reason it out anyway you like,” Hound said with an easy smile. “I’m just glad you’re making a friend. I don’t know Wheeljack too well, but he’s a good guy.”

There was that word again. “Wheeljack said I was a friend, as well,” Mirage admitted. “It seems too simple to me.”

“You said that about us, too,” Hound pointed out, “and I spent vorns bringing you around. And when ‘Breaker showed up, it was the same thing.” When Mirage didn’t reply, the green mech frowned. “Sometimes I could slag that upbringing of yours. Listen. He’s not getting close to you for any nefarious purposes. He’s not going to stab you in the back. He’s not pretending to be your friend only to ridicule you in front of everyone. He’s actually being friendly because he’s nice, and it seems he thinks you’re nice too. That’s all.”

“I shall endeavor to believe that,” Mirage replied in wry tones.

“See that you do.” Hound pointed at playful finger at Mirage. “Or we will have to repeat some of those lessons I tried to teach you.”

Mirage chuckled. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Good.” Hound smiled. “So do you like him?”

Mirage stared at his friend in shock. “Like him? Wheeljack?”

“Of course Wheeljack. That is who we’re talking about.”

“I… don’t know,” Mirage said slowly. “He unnerves me, I suppose. He’s not how I expected.”

Hound snorted a laugh, a habit he had picked up from Trailbreaker that Mirage found supremely undignified. Every attempt to rid his friends of the nasty gesture had been unsuccessful, however, and in the end he had given up and accepted it as one of their idiosyncrasies. “I know what you expected, ‘Raj. Him not being like that is a good thing.” He reached out, touched Mirage’s arm gently. “I can understand that you’re unnerved. Just – give him the chance to show you, yeah? Let him see who you are, and show you who he is. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Mirage suppressed an unseemly sigh. “I suppose there can be no harm in being cordial, at least.”

Since Hound asked, he would certainly give it a try. Primus knew him gaining a friend would be nothing short of a small miracle, though.


	3. Chapter 3

Wheeljack was tired enough to almost be in full recharge while still upright. Making his way to the rec room was like navigating an obstacle course – not because the hallways were crowded, but because his processor had stopped interpreting the input from his limbs correctly. It was past time for him to refuel and recharge, and hopefully he could manage in that order.

If only it hadn’t been so far from his lab to the rec room. It seemed almost insurmountable at this point.

He miscalculated a turn and overbalanced, collapsing to his knees. The wall he had expected to be there to brace against was much further away than he thought, and the resulting lopsided position trapped his arms beneath him as well.

“Slag it,” he muttered, or tried to. The sounds that came from his vocalizer were not recognizable as any language he had heard before.

It had apparently been enough to alert someone, though. Or maybe the almighty crash he’d made when he fell had done the job.

“Primus, Wheeljack,” someone sighed, and the cultivated tones were faintly familiar. “You’ve all but run yourself into the ground.” Arms tugged at him, gently but insistently, and he was untangled enough to be pulled to his feet.

He still couldn’t see anyone, though. Either, that meant that his processor was glitching more than he had expected, or (and far more likely), it was an invisible mech that had come to help him.

“M’raj?” he managed, and that at least was mostly clear.

“Yes, it’s me,” the other replied, taking Wheeljack’s arm and pulling it across invisible shoulders. “Have you refueled at all in the last week? Or have you been stuck doing repairs all the time? Oh, don’t try to respond just yet,” he said sternly at Wheeljack’s admittedly poor attempts at communication. “Let’s get at least two cubes in you, and then we’ll see.”

Somehow, Mirage managed to half haul him, half carry him the rest of the way to the rec room, and carefully lowered him into the sofa. Which was a good solution – as lacking in control of his own limbs as he was, any attempt to sit on a chair would likely end with him crashing to the floor again.

But when Mirage came back and put two cubes on the table in front of him, Wheeljack regained just enough control of his faculties to look away.

“Wheeljack?” Mirage sounded hesitant, somehow. “Are you all right?”

Primus, he could barely string two syllables together. How was he to tell Mirage that he didn’t refuel in front of others?

“Wheeljack, you need to – oh. Oh, I see.” Gentle fingers touched his mask carefully. “You don’t want this off, do you?”

He managed to shake his head. Or at least, it felt like he managed.

“Well, luckily, I know a trick for that,” the noblemech said briskly. “Can you lie on your back, please?”

As it turned out, he could, but only after invisible arms had moved him. Mirage then began manipulating a panel in Wheeljack’s side. “There’s a secondary fuel intake here,” the spy informed him. “It’s slow going to refuel that way, but it’s useful for mechs one inch from stasis. Or engineers with more imagination than sense,” he scolded lightly. “Just hold still, and you’ll feel better in a little while.”

A small fueling tube was pulled from his side – how had he not known that was there? You’d think he’d know such details about his own frame – and connected to one of the cubes. Slowly, infitesimally, the fluid began to inch through the semi-clear tube.

“So, Ratchet is in recharge and not to be disturbed,” Mirage said conversationally. “But First Aid informs me that you’ve been on duty in the med bay for three consecutive shifts, and then have spent the shifts since then in the lap, manufacturing a replacement for Cliffjumper’s fuel pump. And when that was finished, you began construction on Fireflight’s new hand.” He sighed. “I have been given carte blanche, supported by Prowl, to make sure that you not only imbibe those two cubes, but withdraw three more and then go to your quarters to recharge.”

Strong hands shifted Wheeljack’s legs, laying him out more comfortably.

“I have also been told to make sure that you refuel again when you online,” Mirage continued, and Wheeljack made an effort to follow his voice as it circled him. “I am on medical leave for the next week, so I have been assigned to stay by your side. I hope that is acceptable. I shall endeavor to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

Wheeljack could feel the fuel working in his systems now, stilling the trembling in his hands and clearing up the fog in his processor. And still the cube was half-full.

“I’m going to repeat myself now, Wheeljack,” Mirage said softly, and the voice was much closer to Wheeljack’s audial than he had expected. “You cannot atone for the sins of others. You working yourself into stasis does not validate or resolve this conflict. You need to take better care of yourself.” There was a ping as Mirage tapped his finger against Wheeljack’s helm.

“You shouldn’t be invisible, Mirage, you’re too nice to hide yourself away like that,” Wheeljack blurted.

Well, at least his vocalizer worked again. Though he wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t rather prefer it offline, at this point.

Mirage was silent for a moment. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ve not often been called 'nice'.” That finger pinged his forehead again. “Though I’m not sure you’re in possession of enough of your wits that I can take anything you say at face value at this point. Not refueling or recharging for this long, honestly.”

Wheeljack lifted his hand and managed to catch Mirage’s own, though it was probably more due to the fact that Mirage let him than due to any skill or luck on the inventor’s part. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, though a bit staticky still. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Of course,” Mirage replied. “You are my friend after all, are you not?” The tiny hesitation before the term ‘friend’ was audible, but only just.

“Yeah, I am,” Wheeljack said, squeezing the hand he was still holding in his own.

Mirage hesitated again, then squeezed back.

 

It took longer than Wheeljack had thought to empty the two cubes, but at the end of it, he could at least walk on his own pedes again. Though Mirage stayed right next to him, prepared to catch him if he should stumble.

It was comforting, really. If a bit humiliating.

When they got to the door to his quarters, though, they were back to where they were before, with Wheeljack’s arm resting across invisible shoulders. He all but stumbled his way across the threshold, dropping gracelessly unto the berth.

“Sorry,” he sighed, vocalizer all staticky again. “I’m more exhausted than I realized.”

“Of course you are,” Mirage said soothingly. “Don’t worry, it will be sorted. Here.” He unsubspaced a cube, and the sudden appearance of energon on his table out of seemingly nowhere made Wheeljack giggle. “If I turn away, are you comfortable refueling on your own?”

“Yeah,” Wheeljack agreed. “If you… couldya offline your audials, too?”

“Certainly,” Mirage said, not a hint of a question in his tone. “My audials are offline… now.”

Wheeljack stared at where he supposed the spy was standing with amazement. Then he disengaged his mask carefully and picked up the cube with tired, trembling hands.

He hated refueling like this. Pit, he hated everything about this, from the sting as he opened his mouth to the crinkly, whispery sound of his faceplates moving to the energon that escaped to dribble down his horrible excuse for a chin simply because his mouth just wasn’t shaped right anymore. As soon as the cube was moderately empty, he put it down, wiped his face and put his mask back on.

Only then did he ping Mirage.

“Are you ready to recharge?” the spy said, and Wheeljack could almost imagine the quirked optic ridge.

“Almost,” he grinned, his blinking headfins lighting up the room. “I just had two questions first. Or three, I guess. Don’t worry, they’re yes or no.”

“…All right,” Mirage replied warily. “Ask.”

“First. Were you tasked with taking care of me until I was back on my feet?”

“Yes,” Mirage said, sounding relieved that the question was that simple.

“That means you’ll be staying here. Which means you’re welcome to both wash rack and berth, if you want to. So the second question is, wouldya prefer another solution, or is platonically sharing the berth okay? As you see, it’s wide enough.” His helmfins flashed again. “Officer privileges.”

“That is not a yes or no question,” Mirage pointed out wryly.

Wheeljack chuckled. “All right, I’ll rephrase. Wouldya stay in this berth with me tonight?”

“Yes,” Mirage replied softly, almost nervously. “If that’s all right.”

“Sure,” Wheeljack nodded, scooting sideways slightly to let the other mech onto the berth as well. He could feel the slight dip in the padding as Mirage sat down, then followed the slight movement across the berth pad and blankets as the spy stretched out. Shuffling a bit, and still trembling, Wheeljack managed to lie down next to him.

“You said you had three questions,” Mirage murmured. “That means you have one left.”

“So it does,” Wheeljack agreed. He turned slightly, letting the thick pillows keeping his helmfins from being crushed. Then he hesitated.

The padding crinkled as Mirage moved as well, his voice close enough that he only had to whisper. “Wheeljack?”

“Can I see you?” Wheeljack asked, looking at where he imagined Mirage’s optics were.

After what felt like an eternity, and just when Wheeljack began wondering how rude Mirage would think he was to stare like that, the noblemech appeared.

He looked like the medical leave was well deserved. There were fresh weld lines across his chassis, mainly on his left side, and his optics were dim.

“Mirage,” Wheeljack scolded gently. “You shouldn’t be hauling me around with fresh welds like those.”

“They’re mostly superficial,” Mirage said. “It didn’t cause any problems, I assure you.”

Wheeljack lifted his hand to trace a jagged weld across Mirage’s forearm. “Is this why you were invisible? Didn’t you want anyone to see you like this?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mirage replied, looking down at where Wheeljack’s finger was resting against his arm. “Anyone can get damaged. But I’ve got thinner plating than most, and after battles tempers tend to run high. Some mechs are increasingly aggressive after fighting, and they need to assign the blame for any failures to someone. More often than I appreciate, that someone has been me.” He smiled then, but there was no mirth in it. “I suppose it’s easy to blame the one you never noticed during the battle itself. If they didn’t see me, I can’t have been there, can I? Which means I must have been helping my masters, the Decepticons.” He sighed, optics dimming further. “It’s an old accusation. And most times, I can shrug it off. Or Hound reminds me how wrong it is. But after battles…” He watched, seeming almost hypnotized, as Wheeljack’s hand took his. “After battles, it’s much harder to ignore them. So I tend to engage my disruptor until things are back to normal.”

“That is… I don’t know what to say,” Wheeljack said, wanting to be furious on Mirage’s behalf but too tired to be really angry. “Are you saying that you’ve been attacked by Autobots after battles simply because you’re you?”

“Not often, but yes, that has happened,” Mirage replied, finally looking away from their intertwined hands to meet Wheeljack’s optics. “Usually it’s not physical, though.”

“That doesn’t make a difference. Physical or verbal, they’re still assaulting a fellow Autobot.” He frowned. “Have you reported this?”

“No,” Mirage said tiredly, “I haven’t, because it won’t help anyone. And please, Wheeljack, I don’t… I don’t feel comfortable discussing this now. You should recharge.”

Wheeljack rubbed small circles on the back of Mirage’s hand. “Alright. But I just want to tell you something first.”

“You are such a procrastinator,” Mirage huffed, but Wheeljack thrilled at the small smile on his face. “Go on then, but after that it’s recharge.”

“Okay, then it’s just this,” Wheeljack said, taking Mirage’s other hand as well, looking at the other mech until Mirage looked back. “You’re amazing. You’re kind, and gentle, and clever, and funny, and you don’t deserve anyone treating you as less than that. You should never have to feel like you need to hide behind your invisibility. And I for one am very grateful and awed by you being my friend. I’m not sure how I ended up deserving that, but I know I’m lucky.”

He was rewarded with a faint blush spreading over Mirage’s cheeks, and that small smile widening. “I do believe you’re in dire need of recharge, Wheeljack. You’re spouting nonsense.”

Wheeljack laughed and squeezed the spy’s hands. “That’s true. I feel like I’ve been on my feet for a vorn.” He looked at Mirage again, absorbing the sight of those darkened cheeks, the optics that were happier and less dim than a moment ago. “Doesn’t mean that I didn’t mean it, though.” Slowly, carefully, he let go of Mirage’s hand and dared to let one of his fingers run across the spy’s cheek. “I’m your friend. You don’t have to pretend around me. You don’t have to hide.”

“So perceptive,” Mirage whispered. “I swear you see to the core of me.”

“Well, you are transparent at times,” Wheeljack replied, chuckling at his own stupid joke and relishing in the feel of Mirage’s face under his fingers.

“And that decides it,” Mirage chuckled, still blushing but smiling again. “You’re definitely beyond logical thought. Recharge, Wheeljack.”

He didn’t push the engineer’s hand away. Wheeljack drifted off to recharge still cradling Mirage’s cheek.

 

In the dark, Mirage’s spark was spinning and twisting in his chassis. At some point in the night Wheeljack had rolled over in his recharge, pulling away from Mirage’s hand and face. The parts he had touched still burned as though on fire.

What on Earth was going on?

Not for the first time that night, he wished Hound was awake. He could have done with a friendly audial. But Hound was deep in recharge, Trailbreaker as well, and Mirage didn’t want to wake them. They deserved their recharge. And the only other person he counted as a friend was…

… was lying on the berth next to him.

The realization was staggering. And, strangely, slightly soothing.

Unexpected, yes. Unnerving, certainly. But not unwelcome. And not undesired either, Mirage realized. He felt _safe_ with Wheeljack. That brought the number of mechs he felt completely safe around on the Ark up to five.

Five.

It wasn’t many, but he’d rather take the five he did have than ten he wasn’t sure about.

“You know, I can hear you thinking all the way over here,” Wheeljack murmured, and Mirage flinched. “What’s got your processor in a twist?”

“You should be in recharge,” Mirage scolded softly.

“So should you,” Wheeljack retorted in the same dulcet tones, turning around to face him again. “But something’s bothering you. Spill, Mirage.”

No harshness, no demanding tones. Just the soft insistence he would have expected to hear from Hound or Trailbreaker, asking him to share not because he had to but because they cared.

It was like a balm. Still, he was fairly sure he’d rather have discussed this with Hound or even Trailbreaker rather than Wheeljack.

“Come on,” Wheeljack said when Mirage still hesitated. “Tell me what’s wrong, ‘Raj.” Those fingers touched his own again.

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly,” Mirage replied, looking away. “I’m merely thinking about… labels.”

“Labels?” Wheeljack’s optics brightened. “What kind of labels?”

“Such as you naming me friend,” Mirage admitted. “It’s new to me, that is all.”

Wheeljack sat up, turning his full focus on Mirage. “What unnerves you about it?”

Everything. Of course, Mirage couldn’t say that.

“Why?” he settled for, simply. “Why do you want to be my friend?”

“I thought I made that clear already,” Wheeljack replied, and his smile lit up the room. “Besides, looks to me like you could need another friend. You don’t seem to have too many to begin with.”

“That’s by choice,” Mirage said, a little acerbically, and he instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to imply that I’m not grateful to you. And happy that you consider me a friend.”

Wheeljack, thankfully, was all understanding. “Oh, I know. You’re solitary on purpose. But there’s a fine line between solitary and lonesome. I know I step over it often enough.”

That had Mirage staring, no matter how impolite it was. “What? But surely you never lack for companionship? You’re one of the most friendly mechs on the Ark!”

“Heh, you think so?” Helmfins blinked and optics scrunched up in what Mirage had learned to recognize as a smile. “It’s nice of you to say. I’m the mad scientist, though. I blow stuff up, and not always on purpose. Ratchet’s a good friend, so’s Ironhide, but it kinda stops there.” He smiled a bit again. “Truth be told, this is as novel to me as it is to you. But I’m very happy to get the chance.”

“I never imagined,” Mirage said softly.

“Well, I never thought you were hiding away after battles, either,” Wheeljack replied. “Seems like we’re both learning about each other.”

“So it does,” Mirage agreed. Feeling brave, he reached out and let the tips of his fingers rest against Wheeljack’s hand. “I am sorry that I woke you with this. You should be in recharge.”

“Well, bad thoughts always rear their ugly helms in the night,” Wheeljack said, smiling a bit. “I know that much.” He caught Mirage’s hand in his own. “I’ll make you a deal. You recharge, and I’ll recharge, and if we need to we can talk more tomorrow. Or whenever we wake up again. Okay?” His helmfins blinked merrily.

“All right,” Mirage said softly. “Pleasant recharge, Wheeljack.”

“You too, ‘Raj,” the inventor replied. “You too.” He didn’t let go of Mirage’s hand, though, and Mirage felt himself slipping into recharge still anchored by that warm touch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheeljack scores a date and gets to be authoritative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, unfortunately, I'm going to have to dial back the posting frequency on this. So from now on it'll be every other week. I simply can't keep up with both this and You had me at 'holoform', and having this every week meant I had to write about eight thousand words a week to keep up. Not possible. With updates every other week I can manage on about six thousand words a week, which is more possible.

The _Ark_ was back to normal. Mostly. Wheeljack didn’t feel very normal, though. Or, to be more precise, he was settling into a new kind of normal. One where he kept his optics open for a certain blue spy. Where he left his lab more often to get his energon, and tried to do it when he thought Mirage would be out and about.

It was altogether new and exhilarating, and he felt giddy as a youngling. The whole situation was completely ridiculous.

And he loved it.

Entering the rec room for the second time that day, Wheeljack looked around surreptitiously. This time, it seemed he was in luck.

He drew a cube from the dispenser and sealed it, then sat down at the empty table that would have been taken already if someone invisible wasn’t already sitting there.

“Can I see you?” he asked quietly.

Mirage faded into existence. “How did you know I was here?” he replied, tone equally as soft.

“There were ‘bots at every table but this one,” Wheeljack explained. “So I figured there had to be a reason why this one was empty.”

“Yes. Mechs avoid me even when they can’t see me,” Mirage said dryly. Then he looked down, avoiding Wheeljack’s optics. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

Wheeljack smiled. “Can we just agree that you’ll stop apologizing for speaking your mind? I happen to like your sense of humor, you know. Even if it is a bit self-deprecating at times.”

Mirage looked back up at him, with that small smile on his face. “I can’t help it. It’s how I was trained.” He sipped from his cube, and it looked like nothing but an attempt to regain equilibrium. “It’s good to see you, Wheeljack.”

“Likewise. Literally.”

Mirage gave a soft chuckle. “Thank you. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I wanted to asked you something.” He invented, gathering his courage. “There’s a movie showing in the rec room tonight. Bumblebee’s managed to dig up _The Star of Iacon_ from somewhere. Want to come?”

Mirage’s look turned wistful. “It’s been forever since I have watched something produced in the Golden Age. But I am afraid I am unwelcome.”

“Unwelcome? At movie night?” Wheeljack stared at him. “Why? Do you talk all the way through the films? Challenge all the dodgy physics? Oh, I know.” He pointed a finger at Mirage. “You hog the snacks.”

Mirage laughed. It was clear, and bright, and made Wheeljack feel like all was right with the world.

“I would love to go with you,” Mirage said when he finally got his mirth under control. “Even though I am not wanted there.”

“I want you there,” Wheeljack said, surprised by the truth in the simple statement. “So will you come with me?”

“Yes.” Mirage smiled that little smile that always seemed to mess with Wheeljack’s gyro stabilizers. “Yes, I believe I shall.”

“Excellent!” Wheeljack beamed, basking in that little smile. “I’ll meet you later outside your quarters? It’s on the way,” he added, in case the excuse would make Mirage feel better about it.

“Yes, that is agreeable,” Mirage replied. “I look forward to it.”

“Great!” Wheeljack stood. “I have to get back to the lab. See you tonight!”

Mirage smiled and nodded.

Wheeljack didn’t suppress the extra bounce in his step as he walked back to the lab. If he hurried, maybe he’d even find time to get a bit of polishing in.

 

He was nervous. There was no denying it. He’d been so worried about being late that he’d ended up being early, and now he was leaning against the wall a little ways down from Mirage’s door, pretending to read a datapad and trying to give the impression that this wasn’t exactly what it looked like.

Apparently, he failed.

“Hey, Wheeljack,” Hound said companionably. “Waiting for ‘Raj?”

“Yeah.” His helmfins blinked, matching his sheepish expression. “I’m a bit early.”

“You can knock, you know,” Hound winked. “He won’t bite.”

“No, I know,” Wheeljack chuckled. “Guess I just didn’t want to seem over-eager.”

“So it is a date, then?” Hound’s optics were suddenly sharp, boring into Wheeljack’s own.

“I’m – I don’t – well,” Wheeljack stuttered, sheepish feeling not fading at all. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, I’d like it to be, but we never specified that it was.” He shrugged a bit. “As dates go, movie night in the rec room is pretty lame. Maybe it’s better that it’s not a date.”

“But you want it to be,” Hound stated.

Wheeljack nodded. It hadn’t been what he’d thought when he invited Mirage to come that morning – he’d mainly thought it would be something the spy would enjoy – but apparently he’d changed his mind sometime since then. The realization had hit him suddenly as he stood in his wash rack, in the same sudden manner as all his great ideas – one moment he’d been thinking about the conductive strengths of certain polymers, the next he was imagining kissing Mirage after walking him back to his quarters.

He’d had to turn the solvent temperature down after that.

Terminating that thought ruthlessly, he looked away from Hound while answering. “I do want it to be.”

“Good!” Hound grinned. “Because that’s what Mirage said, too. I think you’ll be fine.”

Wheeljack could only stare as the green scout walked away. Then he reset his optics. “Well, in that case…”

He wasn’t any less nervous when knocking on Mirage’s door, but now it was good nerves. And when the door opened…

“Wow,” Wheeljack blurted. “You look – wow.”

“Good wow?” Mirage asked, almost shyly. He turned slightly, showing off his polished frame.

“Amazing,” Wheeljack affirmed. “Now I wish I’d taken more time to get ready.”

“You look good,” Mirage said diplomatically. “I can barely see the scorch marks.”

“Kidder,” Wheeljack chuckled, and just like that all his nerves melted away. “Shall we?” He offered Mirage his arm, probably less gracefully than the noble would have been used to.

Mirage still took it, though, giving Wheeljack a smile. “We shall.”

It took one look from a passing Windcharger for Mirage to let go of his arm again. Wheeljack missed the touch instantly, but the look on Mirage’s face was enough to stop him from reaching for the other’s hand. Mirage was looking down, closed off, and if Wheeljack were to guess, he’d say that only the fact that the minibot was still looking right at them was keeping the spy in a visible spectrum.

He was assaulted by a furious need to fix this. Mirage shouldn’t feel the need to hide in his own home.

How to that still evaded him, though.

There were more looks as they entered the rec room, and Wheeljack got a sample of what it must feel like to be Mirage. Because there was a marked difference between how mechs looked at the two of them. Some were treating him and Mirage the same – Bumblebee, Bluestreak, both waving happily at them, Trailbreaker and Hound, smiling at them. Sunstreaker, sneering at them both in equal measure.

But most of the other Autobots looked at Mirage a lot differently than they did Wheeljack.

Sideswipe, smiling at Wheeljack then raising his optic ridges as Mirage followed behind him. Smokescreen, waving at Wheeljack and staring at Mirage. Brawn and Huffer, nodding and then frowning. Cliffjumper was by far the worst, though; waving at Wheeljack and then snarling and half-rising when Mirage came in behind him.

“What’s _he_ doing here?”

Wheeljack didn’t need the extra sensitivity his winglets gave him to know that Mirage was almost retreating behind him.

“We’re here to watch the movie,” he said, deceptively mildly. “I haven’t seen anything from Cybertron since we crashed here.”

“Behave, ‘Jumper,” Hound said, sounding a little annoyed. “Just start the film.”

Cliffjumper sneered, but at least he sat down. Wheeljack made for a pair of free seats near the front of the room, but a touch to his shoulder stopped him.

*Back here?* Mirage commed. *Please?*

Wheeljack nodded, let himself be led towards two of the more uncomfortable chairs closer to the door.

*I usually stay back here,* Mirage said softly. *Easier to leave if I have to.*

*I won’t let them drive you out,* Wheeljack replied firmly.

That was easier said than done, though. Because Cliffjumper didn’t stop. He’d settled close to the wall, where he was in full view of their seats, and every comment out of his mouth made some form of hidden comparison between Mirage and the villain of the film. Wheeljack would have thought it was all nonsensical and that Cliffjumper was just dissing the film – if it wasn’t for the way Mirage was reacting.

The spy put up a good front at first. He sat calmly at Wheeljack’s side, composed and aloof, but he leaned further and further away with each sharp barb from the red minibot. And then, between one scene and the next, Mirage faded away.

Wheeljack was suddenly furious.

“Cliffjumper, shut your mouth,” he said coldly. “Or I will have you charged with disrespect and gross misconduct and have you thrown in the brig.”

“What?” Cliffjumper protested indignantly. “I’m just watching the movie. Not my fault it’s full of traitor Decepticon sympathizer lookalikes.” He nodded towards the screen. “At least this guy gets what’s coming to him. Not like others I could mention.” He looked at Wheeljack then, smirking when he couldn’t see Mirage. “Guess he wasn’t too happy to face the facts, was he? Stuck-up Towers brat.”

“That’s enough,” Wheeljack snarled, standing. “You’re slandering a fellow Autobot.”

“He’s no fellow of mine,” Cliffjumper spat, standing as well. “He’s got no right to call himself an Autobot at all!”

Wheeljack snapped. “Sideswipe, Trailbreaker, escort Cliffjumper to the brig.”

“Yes sir,” Sideswipe replied, sounding exasperated. The small kick he gave the red minibot as he passed him proved the point. “Come on, you. You’re making me miss the movie, slaggit.”

Trailbreaker stood silently before following the stuttering minibot out of the room. He shot a glance towards where Mirage was still sitting, and then they were gone.

*Please, can we go?* Mirage commed, text only. *Everyone already thinks I’ve left.*

*If you want to,* Wheeljack replied. He turned to look at the many faces staring at him. Most of the other Autobots were completely ignoring the movie. “I have to go and report this to Prowl,” he said finally. “I’ll be adding disrespecting an officer to those charges. Enjoy the film. It’s a doozy.”

Once out in the hallway, he could feel Mirage’s fingers against his wrist. He twisted his hand deftly and caught the spy’s fingers in his own. It looked decidedly odd with Mirage still invisible, but Wheeljack was long past caring.

*I’m sorry you had to see that,* Mirage said softly.

*Sorry I had to see it? I’m sorry you had to go through it,* Wheeljack replied. *Is it always like that?*

*It’s been better and it’s been worse,* Mirage murmured.

Wheeljack squeezed his hand. He enjoyed feeling those slender, finely crafted fingers intertwined with his own blunt and scarred digits, and couldn’t quite resist letting his thumb run in soothing circles across the back of Mirage’s hand.

The squeeze his hand got in return made his spark flutter.

“So what now?” he asked out loud. “The evening is still young.” He eyed where Mirage should be. “Unless you’d rather call it a night?”

“I enjoy your company,” Mirage replied, and Wheeljack’s spark soared. Damned thing – it was getting hard to stay focused. And he refused to make a move that could be interpreted wrong here. Especially when Mirage had his disruptor engaged. “If you don’t think it too presumptuous of me, perhaps you can come to my quarters? Hound has had a chess set made to scale for me, if you’d like to play?”

“I don’t know the rules, but I wouldn’t mind learning,” Wheeljack smiled, helmfins blinking merrily. He suddenly felt light as a feather.

 

“That’s a bold move,” Mirage said, looking down at the board. Wheeljack had picked up the basics of the game easily enough, but now he was tackling it the way he did everything – by testing to see what would make it explode or at least go wrong in some manner. Mirage would find it infuriating if it wasn’t so endearing.

“Well, I have to at least try to give you a run for your money,” Wheeljack replied, grinning one of those bright smiles of his.

“I certainly appreciate the sentiment,” Mirage agreed, “but in this case, it’s lost you the game.” He picked up his queen, knocked Wheeljack’s king over. “Check mate.”

Wheeljack chuckled. “I guess I should have seen that one coming. Another round?”

“I would love to,” Mirage replied, smiling. He wasn’t surprised anymore that he actually meant it. “And you need the practice.”

Wheeljack laughed at that, a loud, free sound that made Mirage happier than he had expected.

“That I do,” the inventor chuckled. “I’d ask you to go easy on me, but I suspect you already are.”

Mirage just smiled and quirked an optic ridge at him.

They were interrupted by a timid knock on the door. Mirage frowned slightly as he stood to open it. The only one who ever knocked on his door was Wheeljack – Hound and Trailbreaker always just pinged for entrance, and if Jazz wanted him for something the saboteur would just appear inside his quarters. Mirage suspected that his commander suffered from the inability to see a locked door as anything but a challenge.

He didn’t admit to the slight trepidation he felt as he unlocked the door. Wheeljack was sill sitting behind him, all silent strength and comfort, and Mirage drew solace from the fact that his friend would at least be watching if this was what he feared it was.

It wasn’t.

He couldn’t stop the surprise from showing on his face as he looked down at Bumblebee. The minibot looked determined and hesitant at once, a strange combination on the small faceplates. Mirage didn’t know what to say.

“Good evening,” he settled for, a pleasant and neutral expression. He had never had cause to fear Bumblebee. The minibot was Jazz’s just as much as Mirage was, and though they seldom had missions together the training that the third in command had put them through had been enough to almost make them friends. At least as much friends as Mirage ever had outside of Hound and Trailbreaker.

And now Wheeljack.

“Um, hi,” Bumblebee replied. He held up a data stick. “ _The Star of Iacon_. I thought you might want to watch it.”

Mirage was astounded. He accepted the stick automatically. “I – thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Bumblebee smiled. “I’m sorry about ‘Jumper. Wheeljack was right to send him to the brig. We’ve tried talking to him before, but the lesson never sticks.” He bounced on his pedes a bit. “Listen, next week it’s _Labyrinth_. It’s an Earth flick, so Jazz is all excited about it. It would be great if you wanted to come, too.” He winked. “’Charger and I promise to sit on Cliffjumper if that’s what it takes to get him to shut up.”

Mirage had to smile at that mental image. “Thank you,” he said again, more earnestly this time. “I shall consider it.”

“Good!” Bumblebee grinned. “I’m going to leave you to it then. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He leaned sideways to peer past Mirage. “Bye, Wheeljack! Oh, and Jazz says good on you for enacting your rank for once!” Then he was gone.

Mirage let the door slide shut and turned towards Wheeljack, data stick still in his hand. “That was unexpected.”

“Nice of him, though,” Wheeljack replied, standing up. “So do you want to watch it?”

“Tonight? It’s getting late already,” Mirage said. He wasn’t sure of what he wanted.

Wheeljack’s face fell slightly. “Oh. Yeah, I guess. Maybe we should pick this up another time.”

He moved to walk past Mirage towards the door, but the spy caught his arm. “Not what I was implying,” he said gently. “I merely meant that were we to put it on now, it would be even later before it finished, and we would both suffer on our shifts tomorrow.”

Wheeljack paused, then grinned. “Oh. Well, do you want to know another perk of being an officer?” He stood still for a moment, and Mirage detected an outgoing comm. “There. Now you’re on the late shift with Smokescreen at the monitors, and I’m starting my shift when I’m ready to.”

Mirage quirked an optic ridge at him. “Oh, that easy, is it?” He would need to make sure that Wheeljack learned to ask first before doing things like that. But for now, the inventor seemed so happy with himself that Mirage didn’t have the spark to pop his bubble. “Is that your way of saying you would prefer to stay here and watch this movie with me?”

Wheeljack smiled. “Mirage, it would be a great honor if you’d allow me to stay and watch this move with you tonight.”

Well, he couldn’t really say no to that.

“I would like that,” he said softly. “I’m afraid the amenities are somewhat less here than in the rec room. The screen is much smaller, for one.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Wheeljack chuckled. He took the data stick from Mirage’s hand and fiddled with Mirage’s tiny entertainment center.

Mirage suppressed a chuckle and sat down on the berth. “Well, when you’ve handled that, come join me. The chairs are murder on the frame if you sit for too long.”

 

There was a marked difference, Mirage found, between sitting next to Wheeljack on a chair and watch a movie and sitting next to Wheeljack in a berth and watch a movie. The proximity, for one. Wheeljack’s systems were a detectable hum next to him, and every shift the engineer made was noticeable in the way the berth dipped slightly beneath his weight. The soft mattress was even forcing them closer together by virtue of sagging in the middle, until they sat much closer together than Mirage ever would approve of in company.

This new closeness was not entirely a physical thing. Mirage felt the difference keenly. It seemed to him as if they were both venting the same air, as if the vibrations of Wheeljack’s frame travelled into his own, and though there was still a modicum of space between them there might as well not be.

It was a far more intimate situation than Mirage had expected.

The inventor seemed engrossed in the movie. Mirage couldn’t quite focus, though. He kept stealing glances at Wheeljack from the corner of his optic. Not for the first time, he wondered what lay beneath that blast mask. He wasn’t the only one with a mask on the Ark, far from it, but while the reasoning behind the other’s masks were clear – to Mirage and the other spec ops agents, at least, if not any others – Wheeljack was a bit of an enigma.

Not that Mirage had paid him that much attention before. He’d never had cause to. He suspected now that few had, and that was part of why the inventor felt lonely.

Not that he ever complained. At least not where Mirage could hear.

“If you’re gonna watch me more than the movie,” Wheeljack said, and his helmfins blinked a muted pattern, “we might as well pause it so you don’t miss anything.”

Mirage was instantly mortified. He fought against the urge to engage his disruptor. “I apologize, Wheeljack,” he said instead. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Havin’ you looking at me is not uncomfortable,” Wheeljack replied, smiling. “I do wonder why, though.”

Mirage hesitated. He remembered Wheeljack’s insistence that he turn away and offline his audials just so the inventor could go through with the simple act of refueling. Something told him that Wheeljack didn’t trust him enough to reveal what was hidden behind his mask. Maybe he didn’t trust anyone enough to reveal that.

“I find you intriguing,” he said instead – a lesser truth, but a truth nonetheless. “Also, I’m unaccustomed to being so close to someone who isn’t Hound or Trailbreaker.” Or Jazz. “It’s slightly unnerving. I keep reassuring myself that it’s you next to me.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. Does it help if I move further away?”

Mirage caught his hand before Wheeljack could move, and he wasn’t even sure why. It was just like when he’d taken his hand in the hallway after they left the rec room. His frame seemed to be making decisions of his own, only letting his processor know when it was too late to do something about it.

His spark didn’t seem to mind, either.

“No,” he said simply. “Don’t. We’ve recharged together, Wheeljack, I’m not worried about you.” He gave Wheeljack’s hand a slight tug, and the inventor obeyed by shuffling closer. “Sit here with me?”

“Of course,” Wheeljack agreed, shifting until they were plating to plating. “Better?”

“We’ll try it,” Mirage said. He didn’t let go of Wheeljack’s hand as he leaned up against the other’s side. “Push play again?”

“You got it,” Wheeljack replied. He didn’t comment as Mirage let his helm drop down on his shoulder. After a moment, Mirage could feel Wheeljack’s cheek along the crest of his helm.

It was strangely pleasant. For the first time since they’d left the movie night, Mirage relaxed fully.


	5. Chapter 5

Mirage was shivering. Every tiny part of his frame was vibrating minutely, moving against the rest of him until the result was an almost unnoticeable tremble in his plating.

He’d managed to get both Jazz and himself back in one piece, though it had been a close call. Even now, Jazz was being prepped for surgery, First Aid and Hoist readying anything they might or might not need to get his ruined internals back in working order. At least Jazz had been joking until he had been put in stasis, so the damage couldn’t be too bad.

Ratchet disconnected the scanner and turned to look at him. “You’re clear.”

Mirage nodded. That was always good to know.

“I’d say fuel and recharge, but I know you,” Ratchet sighed. He glanced back towards where Jazz was laying in induced stasis. “Jazz won’t be able to sit with you tonight. He shouldn’t be doing so anyway, since he’s just as jittery as you after these things. And I’m sorry, but Prowl just confirmed that both Hound and Trailbreaker are on extended patrol and are a couple of days away. Bumblebee’s off base as well.” The medic turned back to Mirage. “Is there anyone else you trust to sit with you?”

Mirage didn’t need his spec ops training to know that Ratchet desperately wanted it not to be himself. Considering Jazz’s surgery, though, the medic was out, even if Mirage had trusted him with this.

He was about to ask to be put in stasis as well until the jitters passed when the answer occurred to him. “Wheeljack,” he whispered. “Ask Wheeljack.”

Ratchet’s optics widened slightly. “Wheeljack? Really?” When Mirage just looked at him, the medic nodded slightly. “All right. I’ll ask Wheeljack.”

 

“Really? He asked for me?”

Wheeljack hurried after Ratchet. The two mechs were of a height, but when Ratchet had a need to be back in his medbay it was as if his legs grew twice as long.

“He did,” Ratchet said, somewhat acerbically. “I have to admit, I didn’t realize you two had gotten that close. Anything you want to tell me?” He looked at Wheeljack with what could only be called a smirk.

“We’re friends, that’s all,” Wheeljack replied, trying to stay calm. Ratchet was _good_ at sussing out secrets. Came with the function. “We’ve been spending some time together after you told me to talk to him about my shield generator. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Ratchet just nodded. “Friends, huh?”

“Yeah, friends,” Wheeljack said, a trace of annoyance in his tone. “Why does everyone think it’s strange that Mirage could make new friends? He’s funny, and kind, and clever, and he’s willing to listen, and he’s got this way of looking at you that just makes you feel like it’s all worth it, and –“

“- and I suppose it doesn’t hurt that he’s beautiful,” Ratchet added, and now his smirk was a full-blown grin.

Wheeljack caved to the utter lack of interrogation. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got it bad,” he admitted. “But that’s not important at the moment. What does he need from me?”

Ratchet’s switch from best-friend-mode to medic-mode was almost visible. “Mirage comes back from missions very high-strung and unable to defrag. He needs someone he trusts to sit with him, be there in his quarters with him, until he settles down and his spec ops subroutines turn off. Usually, it’s just a matter of reminding him that he’s home and safe whenever he starts getting wide-eyed. Sometimes I’ve had to hold his hand, once I had to be next to him in the berth, but mostly it’s like a vigil. He just needs someone he trusts to be present in case he starts freaking out again. It’s usually a night or two, but it’s been up to five after very bad missions. This time Jazz came back with his internals in pieces, so to speak, so I have no idea how bad this one will be.” He stopped outside Mirage’s door and turned towards Wheeljack. “Don’t ask him about the mission. Don’t ask him about Jazz. Talk to him about other stuff if he needs it, maybe even stuff you two have done together. Do not mention the Decepticons – Hound did that once and I had to reattach his arm afterwards. I’ll have energon brought to you, comm me if you need me, and good luck.” Then Ratchet smiled, best-friend-mode again. “And Wheeljack – I’m happy for you. Mirage is one of the better ones out there. Too bad he’s always catching all the slag.”

“Thanks,” Wheeljack replied, reaching out to squeeze Ratchet’s shoulder briefly. “We’ll have to see if anything comes of it, though. Is he awake? And expecting me?”

Ratchet nodded and input his override codes to unseal the door. “Go ahead.”

Wheeljack in-vented deeply before walking inside.

 

He didn’t know what he had been expecting. But it certainly wasn’t Mirage sitting by his chess board, playing a game against himself, the hand holding the bishop piece trembling slightly. Now that he knew what to look for, Wheeljack could see the signs in his friend’s frame – the small shivers, the overwide optics, the absolute silence of suppressed cooling fans and an agent working in stealth mode.

“Hello, Wheeljack,” Mirage said quietly. “I hope you don’t mind that I asked for you.”

“You can always ask for me,” Wheeljack replied, sitting down opposite him. “I’ll be here whenever you want me.” He failed to suppress his wince as the words came out unbidden, but thankfully Mirage didn’t seem to notice. “Did you want to play a game?”

“No,” Mirage sighed. “My processor can’t focus on the strategies.”

“That’s all right,” Wheeljack replied. He picked up a piece. “This is good handiwork. Hound did well.”

A brief smile flitted across Mirage’s face. “Yes, he did, didn’t he? I am very lucky to have him as a friend.”

Wheeljack sensed a safe topic. “He’s lucky to have you too, I think. You two are like me and Ratchet, aren’t you?”

Mirage smiled again, and Wheeljack’s spark thrilled. “Possibly. I don’t know what you and Ratchet have.” He stood, then, and began walking back and forth. “Hound is my best friend. He’s always been there for me. It took me a while before I realized what I had, but he was – always has been – very patient with me. At one point, I thought we might become something more. But then Trailbreaker happened, and that possibility was lost.”

“I’m sorry,” Wheeljack said, as diplomatically as he could considering that his spark had just dropped in its chamber.

“Don’t be. I’m not.” Mirage sat down on the berth. “He and Trailbreaker are perfect together. Hound and I could never be that. Besides, it leaves me free to pursue…” Optics flashed to Wheeljack and back again so fast that the inventor half thought he’d imagined them. “…other interests.”

Not daring to think too much about what Mirage meant, Wheeljack went to sit next to the spy. “Ratchet and I have known each other for – oh, longer than I care to contemplate. We were at the Academy together. And yeah, that was headed for something more at one point too. We derailed ourselves, though.” He grinned, the lights flashing across Mirage’s quarters. “We wouldn’t have been good together, and thankfully, we both realized that in time. So we stayed good friends. And then a certain pair of pit-spawn wandered into his life and Ratchet was lost.”

“And you?” Mirage said softly.

It was the wrong time. It was the completely wrong time, and the wrong situation, and Mirage was looking at him with those too-wide optics, drawing him in without even meaning to. Wheeljack’s spark was spinning madly in his chest, spurring him on. This was one of those moments where things either worked or blew up in your face, and if he did the wrong thing now there would be an explosion.

So he settled for what he hoped was the right thing.

Tentatively, he reached out and took Mirage’s hand. “As you said,” he replied, in equally quiet tones. “A chance to pursue other interests.”

Mirage looked at him for a moment longer, then curled over with a sigh and lay down with his head in Wheeljack’s lap.

 

Wheeljack woke from someone pinging him. He looked down at the spy resting in his lap. Mirage’s optics were dark, and his frame was humming again with the quiet noise of running systems.

Good.

*Ratchet?*

*Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got your energon. Is this a good time?*

Wheeljack nodded, even though his friend couldn’t see him. *Come on in. He’s in recharge.*

The door opened instantly, which meant that Ratchet must have input his code before Wheeljack had even answered his comm. The medic walked in silently, staring at Mirage in surprise.

*So he is. In deep recharge, I’d say. This is very good, Wheeljack. If he gets that defrag in now, it’ll give him less problems in the coming days. How long has he been out?*

Wheeljack checked his chronometer. *Most of the night, I’d say.* He smiled a bit sheepishly. *I’m sorry to say that I couldn’t stay awake myself. I know you told me to sit with him, but –*

*That’s fine,* Ratchet said, waving his words off. *In that position, you’d have noticed if something changed. He must really trust you, to lie like that.* He leaned over the recharging spy, holding a scanner over the still frame. *Hmm, yeah. Deep recharge. His self-repair is working sufficiently, and the spec ops subroutines seem to have shut down.* He flashed a grin at Wheeljack. *If this keeps up, you’re on permanent Mirage duty.*

Wheeljack chuckled, making sure to keep the sound over comms only. *I wouldn’t mind. How’s Jazz?*

*Healing,* Ratchet replied, straightening again. *No permanent damage done. It’ll be pit to keep him in that berth until the welds have set, though.*

Wheeljack could imagine. Jazz never did take well to being still.

*I’ve put you on medical leave for the next three days, along with Mirage,* Ratchet said. *I’d like you to stay with him for that time, if he lets you. If he feels well enough to leave his quarters, that’s fine. Just follow his lead.*

Wheeljack nodded. *I can do that.* His one hand was resting on Mirage’s shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the metal. He knew he had this incredibly dorky look on his face, what was visible of it, but he couldn’t help it. Even if it was giving Ratchet prime blackmail material.

The medic merely looked at them with soft optics, though. *You two would be so good together. Let me know how it works out, yeah?* He grinned and unsubspaced four energon cubes and some coolant, putting most of them on Mirage’s table but leaving one on the berth within Wheeljack’s reach. *Don’t let me find out through the rumor mill. You know Sideswipe loves that kind of gossip.*

*I’ll tell you as much as I want to,* Wheeljack replied, *which is quite a bit, of course. Hey, when Hound and Trailbreaker come back, will you tell them about Mirage?*

*If they come back before he’s ready to tell them himself, yeah,* Ratchet confirmed. He moved one of Mirage’s pillows behind Wheeljack’s back. *Here. You’ll get achy recharging like that.*

Wheeljack just looked down at the spy in his lap. *It’s worth it.*

*I bet it is. You sap,* Ratchet said fondly. *Well, I have mates of my own waiting for me. Comm me if you need to. It doesn’t look like you will.*

*G’night, Ratch.*

 

Mirage awoke feeling clearheaded and calm. It was surprising. He was also warm, and comfortable, and had an overwhelming feeling of safety. And there was a hand on his arm.

When he twisted a bit, he realized whose lap he was on. And why he felt so safe.

Wheeljack was in recharge still sitting upright. He’d fallen back against the wall at some point, his winglets pinned behind him, his head drooping towards his shoulder. His blast mask was crooked, like he’d attached it in a hurry, and there was an empty energon cube in his hand.

Energon.

As soon as Mirage saw it, he realized his tanks had been pinging him quite insistently since he woke. Now, if Ratchet had followed normal procedure, there should be energon and coolant on his table.

Carefully, he moved Wheeljack’s arm aside to allow himself to escape. The inventor stuttered an in-vent, but didn’t wake, and Mirage rose gracefully to his feet. He took one of the expected energon cubes and downed it as quickly as was proper before sitting down to sip at another and check his messages.

_*Mirage, you’re off shift for three days. Jazz is doing well and is already trying to wheedle his way out of my care. I’ve supplied energon for yourself and Wheeljack, comm me if you need more. Ratchet.*_

_*’Raj, get better an’ get me outta here. Prowler’s sittin’ on me, an’ much as I enjoy that most o’ the time I could do with some privacy, ya know? Oh, an’ Ratch says Jackie’s with you. Let me know if I need to give him th’ talk, ‘kay? Jazz out.*_

Mirage winced. Jazz’s ‘talk’ was not something to encourage. He still remembered how Cliffjumper had walked on the humans’ metaphorical eggshells after Jazz had warned him off Bumblebee. He’d have to interfere before Jazz got to Wheeljack.

He didn’t want his boss scaring the inventor away.

_*’Raj, heard you were back! Glad to know you made it safely. Comm me if you want to! ‘Breaker says hi, too!*_

It took him one check of his chronometer to decide to comm back.

*’Raj?*

*Hello, Hound,* he replied. *It’s good to hear your voice.*

*You have no idea,* the scout replied with feeling. *I’m so glad you’re back. Thanks for coming back to me. How’re you doing?*

*I’m… remarkably okay, actually. I’ve recharged better than I ever have after a mission.* Mirage put his empty cube down. *I feel well enough to leave my room, even. Though I must admit I do not want to.*

*You’ve only been in there for a little over a day,* Hound agreed, but he sounded curious. *Usually, it takes you thrice that. And you recharged well, you said? Who do you have watching you?*

*Wheeljack,* Mirage admitted, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But Hound just chuckled. *Wheeljack, huh? Is this where I say ‘I told you so’?*

*You know, gloating is unbecoming,* Mirage replied tartly, but then he grinned. *Yes, all right. You were right. He’s… good.*

*He’s more than that if he got you to recharge deeply enough to defrag so soon after a mission,* Hound replied.

*You make it sound like we were up to something lewd,* Mirage chastised, slightly embarrassed at the thought. And not caring to examine the temptation the idea held. *It was just recharge.* He hesitated as he spoke the words, though, and Hound of course picked up on it.

*No, it wasn’t,* he said, and Mirage could tell he was smiling. *What happened?*

*Nothing much.* Mirage shook his head, even though Hound couldn’t see it. *We talked a little. And I… may have slipped into recharge with my head in his lap.*

Hound was silent for a moment. *You really care for him,* he said softly.

*Don’t say that,* Mirage pleaded. *Don’t jinx it.*

*Fine, I won’t say it,* Hound replied. *Just – don’t be too afraid, ‘Raj. Wheeljack’s good. He’s not like the ones you knew before.*

Mirage didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say.

*All right,* Hound said at last. *I think you could do with some more recharge. Stay in your room for the rest of your medical leave, okay? You may feel better than usual, but your processor’s still coming off those protocols, and you don’t want to be set off in a crowded place. Besides,* and now he was grinning again, the blasted mech, Mirage could _hear_ it, *you’re always too decent to take advantage of leave time anyway, so I figure you’re well within your rights this time.*

Mirage sighed, hearing the unspoken hint at the end of Hound’s words. *And I suppose that the fact that Wheeljack’s here doesn’t influence your suggestions at all.*

*Nope,* Hound said, cheerfully popping the p. *None at all.*

*Does it help if I say he’s in recharge?*

*Then why in pit aren’t you in recharge as well? Go back to berth, ‘Raj. ‘Breaker and I will see you when your leave is over.*

He didn’t know what to say to that either. *Good night, Hound.*

*Sleep tight, ‘Raj.*

Mirage sighed again as he turned towards the berth. Wheeljack was still upright, and Mirage couldn’t quite understand how he could recharge in that position. It had to be uncomfortable.

And he’d stayed that way for him.

It was very hard for Mirage to wrap his processor around it.

Still, Hound’s advice – or order, rather – didn’t sound too bad. The berth looked very inviting. Even though half of it was full of Wheeljack.

Perhaps especially because half of it was full of Wheeljack.

He stood, making his way over to the inventor’s side. Took the empty energon cube out of his hand and placed it on the table. Wheeljack ex-vented softly, but didn’t wake up.

“Come on, Wheeljack,” Mirage said softly, taking the hand that had been holding the energon cube. “You can’t recharge like that.”

The inventor mumbled something, his helmfins blinking a soft muted lilac, and though he didn’t wake fully he let Mirage maneuver him into lying down on his side on the berth with his winglets behind him. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked more comfortable at least.

His mask had slipped further, revealing part of the inventor’s cheek.

Mirage hesitated. He remembered vividly how Wheeljack had reacted the first time he’d have to refuel in front of him. The mask was loose now, though, so he could indulge his curiosity…

…or he could wait, and earn Wheeljack’s trust until he told him on his own.

Carefully, Mirage reached out to refasten the mask. He tried to touch and see as little as possible, but the design was unfamiliar to him, forcing him to at least look at what his fingers were doing lest he accidentally jab Wheeljack in the optic.

The facial plating along Wheeljack’s helm, where his blast mask would normally be, was lighter than the rest. It looked thinner, too, more brittle, riddled with tiny cracks and fissures.

It didn’t seem like enough to hide one’s face away, particularly not for someone as unpretentious as Wheeljack.

Mirage couldn’t resist. As he fastened the mask, he let his thumb caress Wheeljack’s cheek briefly. It was soft, giving under his thumb as expected, though he could feel the countless tiny imperfections.

Wheeljack twitched, though. With regret, Mirage fastened the mask proper and turned to lay down on his back.

He hadn’t expected Wheeljack’s arm to move across his middle and pull him closer. A glance up revealed that the other mech was still in recharge, so Mirage let himself be pulled until he was flush against Wheeljack’s frame, in contact with the other mech from pede to helm.

It was surprisingly comfortable, how well they fit together.

Wheeljack sighed contentedly, nuzzling briefly at Mirage’s helm, before his systems cycled back down into deep recharge.

For a while, Mirage just lay there, staring up at the ceiling and wondering at how content he felt lying in Wheeljack’s arms. But the warmth of Wheeljack’s frame combined with his own comfort level soon proved enough to pull him back into recharge.


	6. Chapter 6

Wheeljack woke up with the quiet hum of another mech’s systems next to his. He onlined his optics slowly, getting used to the lack of light in the room, checking his chronometer to find out it was the middle of the night – again. Apparently, he’d recharged away the entire day.

He couldn’t really regret it, though, considering the company.

Mirage was pillowed on his arm, still in deep recharge.

 _He’s so gorgeous_. The spy’s face plates were relaxed, peaceful, showing off a soft-looking mouth and delicate features framed by elegant helmvents. His hand was resting up next to his face, not far from Wheeljack’s own hand. Almost as if they’d been holding hands when they slipped into recharge.

Well, that had happened before.

He was a bit more surprised to find his own arm resting across Mirage’s waist. That was a lot closer than usual.

Then again, everything about this situation was a lot closer than usual.

He moved his hand a bit until he could touch Mirage’s fingers. The spy sighed in his recharge, taking hold of his hand.

Wheeljack’s spark spun madly in his chassis.

_Oh, I’m in so much trouble._

He turned more over on his side, pulling himself slightly closer to Mirage. Let his helm lean against the spy’s briefly.

And was greeted by a pair of blue optics looking up at him.

“Hey,” Wheeljack whispered. He began to pull away.

“Hello yourself,” Mirage replied, equally as quietly. “Stay.” His hand tightened on Wheeljack’s.

Wheeljack didn’t know what to say. Or what to do. His mind had blanked completely.

“Um. Recharge well?” he managed, and if he had a hand free he would be facepalming. But he wouldn’t move his hands away from Mirage for anything.

Mirage gave him that small smile again. “Very well.” He hummed contentedly and leaned his helm against Wheeljack’s. “Thank you.”

“Thank me? Thank me for what?”

“For coming when I asked,” Mirage said. “For staying with me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Wheeljack replied. “You’d come for me if I asked.”

“I would,” Mirage agreed. “But still. I’m grateful.”

Wheeljack just hummed and rubbed circles on Mirage’s wrist.

“So, we seem to be awake at the opposite time of day as everyone else,” Mirage said after a moment. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t recharge anymore.”

“Wide awake,” Wheeljack confirmed. “And very comfortable.”

Mirage laughed quietly. “Charmer.”

They were still for another moment. Mirage was still smiling silently, and Wheeljack couldn’t look away.

“The sky’s supposed to be clear,” he said impulsively. “Wanna go outside to watch the stars with me? That is, if you can handle it,” he amended hastily. “Ratch told me to follow your lead on this. So if you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

There was that quiet laugh again. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Mirage laugh this much.

Blue optics smiled at him. “It sounds perfect.”

 

The Ark was quiet as they snuck through the hallways. Wheeljack felt almost like a youngling darting from corner to corner with his crush as he held Mirage’s hand and tried to suppress his own laughter. Mirage seemed happy, playful even. He darted ahead, pulling Wheeljack along with him, turning around every now and then to grin at him.

Younglings indeed.

Wheeljack noticed the cameras following them. A quick ping to Teletraan revealed that Red Alert was manning the security hub himself tonight, which explained the vigilance of the cameras.

*We’re just going outside, Red,* he sent quickly. *Just to the top of the mountain.*

An affirmative ping was sent back, and the cameras stopped following them.

Apparently, they were serious about not being seen tonight – though Wheeljack had to admit that he was happy as long as Mirage didn’t hide by being invisible - because Mirage suddenly turned into a different hallway to avoid an oncoming Ironhide. Wheeljack was almost pulled off his feet as Mirage tugged him closer, turning them both until Wheeljack was standing with his back against the wall. Mirage leaned up against him, one hand on Wheeljack’s chassis, the other raised to his own mouth, index finger held up against laughing lips.

“Shh,” he whispered, winking, and Wheeljack was lost.

Utterly and completely lost.

As soon as the very scary and dangerous red weapons specialist they were hiding from had passed them, Mirage tugged at Wheeljack again, and they darted towards the front entrance. Bumblebee and Bluestreak were on guard duty today, but Bumblebee just grinned at them as they approached. There had to be some form of spec ops signal Wheeljack wasn’t privy to, because just as Bumblebee stepped up to Bluestreak, distracting him with inane chatter about some human program he’d watched with Spike, Mirage faded away.

“I’ll see you outside,” the spy whispered. Then his hand let go of Wheeljack’s.

He missed it instantly.

He waited a moment, and then began walking normally towards the exit. Mirage had probably already made his escape, but stealth was not Wheeljack’s forte – Sparkplug had once said he had the grace of a bull elephant in a china shop, which didn’t really make sense to Wheeljack, but he understood enough to know it was bad. So he just walked, neither hiding or sneaking.

“Evenin’,” he said, coming up behind the two guards. “Nice night out?”

“Oh, hi, Wheeljack!” Bluestreak replied, beaming. “Yeah, it’s really pretty, you can almost see the Milky Way! Spike told me that that’s what the humans call their galaxy, and isn’t that a weird name? I wonder why they call it that? Sideswipe told me that milk is something the humans buy in the store to drink, it doesn’t sound like something you’d make a road out of, but when I asked Spike he just shrugged and told me to talk to his dad or something. And Sparkplug just laughed and said he had no idea, and when I asked him if he could find out for me he just winked and left? What do you think, Wheeljack?”

It took a moment to absorb it all, but Wheeljack didn’t want to leave Blue hanging. The kid was far too sweet.

“I think the humans are creative enough that there’s probably a reason behind it,” he replied. “And I think you’d be better off askin’ Carly.” He smiled at the two of them, helmfins lighting up the night. “I’m heading up on the mountain for a spell. Enjoy your shift, mechs.”

“Have a good walk, Wheeljack,” Bluestreak said, smiling enthusiastically. Bumblebee just grinned again.

The walk up the mountain wasn’t hard, though the dark made it a little more difficult. He couldn’t see Mirage and had a feeling the spy was still invisible, so he just headed to the lookout point most mechs visited.

Until someone took his hand with a soft “Follow me,” and guided him past it.

He followed Mirage, enjoying those fingers in his own, until they were at the summit of the mountain. There the spy stopped and let go of Wheeljack’s hand.

Mirage faded into the visible spectrum then, a few steps in front of him, and Wheeljack’s vents hitched at the sight. The spy’s frame picked up what little starlight there was, edging white plating in silver and darkening the blue to a navy midnight. He looked ethereal.

 “I had my own telescope back at the Towers,” Mirage said softly, looking up at the sky. “I learned the stars on my own – my House didn’t see the need for a third creation to know anything of science, I was mainly trained to be a good – well. A good Noble. But I got my hands on a few books, and looked in my telescope, and learned. I always thought it looked like freedom, out there.” He chuckled, and it was a grim sound. “Of course, later I learned that space is just as dark and cold and devoid of emotion as everywhere else.”

“What did you have to learn to be a good Noble?” Wheeljack dared to ask. Hopefully Mirage wouldn’t be offended.

“Conversation,” Mirage replied. “Art, both appreciation and practice. Same with music. Some politics – enough to keep up with the conversation, but not enough to ask critical questions. Self-care, making sure I could look beautiful. How to be the perfect mate in all definitions of the word. How to make my partner look better by my very presence. To act honorably and be of a gentle nature. To have poise and grace and elegance in all things.” His mouth curved in a small smile. “I did fairly well in my lessons, though I spoke my mind more than was considered proper for a third creation. It landed me in hot water more than once.”

Wheeljack chuckled, and Mirage smiled at him. Then he sighed. “Of course, those were just the official lessons. Every Tower youngling took just as much away from the informal ones.”

“Informal?”

Mirage chuckled grimly again. “There was… a lot of rivalry. We learned to cut someone’s composure to ribbons with nothing but words. To show just enough disdain to make an impact, and not enough to merit a scolding from our caretakers. It could be a vicious environment.”

He turned towards Wheeljack then, one optic ridge gently curved. “So imagine my surprise when I came to the Autobots, and all I got for my grace and gentility was scorn, and my barbed words were met with violence or disappointment. Suddenly, I had no frame of reference anymore.”

Wheeljack sat down on an outcropping of rock, patting the stone next to him in an invitation for Mirage to sit. “How did you end up with the Autobots? I don’t think I’ve heard your story.”

“Not many have,” Mirage replied, but he did come over to sit down at Wheeljack’s side. “I was happy enough with my life. There was a match on the horizon for me, I had my group of friends who were loyal and affectionate. Some would say I had everything my heart could desire. But I couldn’t just watch my family turn towards ever more shady dealings, supporting ever more violent bloodsport, inviting the most unsavory characters into our home. I spoke up. One too many times, I suppose.” He sighed. “I kept trying to convince them that dealing with the rebels was a bad idea. To me, they were nothing but violent criminals. But the lord of my House, and the Lords of the other houses, saw a chance for even further elevation of status. And then, when they realized their mistake and try to break the ties to Megatron, he razed the Towers to the ground.”

Wheeljack couldn’t stop himself. He put his arm around Mirage’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

After a moment, Mirage continued. “I survived, somehow. Someone found me in the ruins and brought me to the Autobots, thinking they’d help. I was repaired, and when I woke I was offered the choice: join up, or strike out on my own.” He turned his head and looked up at Wheeljack. “I had no desire to join a war, but how could I manage on my own? I had no useful skills. Everything I knew was gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Wheeljack said, leaning his helm against Mirage’s just like he had when they woke up together. “I didn’t know it had been that hard for you.”

“Thank you,” Mirage said softly. “I adjusted, after a while. But by then I’d already gotten a reputation as a stuck-up Decepticon sympathizer with more beauty than brains who didn’t fight back. Jazz pulled me into his department as much to shield me as to make use of me. He was the closest I had to a friend before I met Hound.”

“Hound’s a good mech,” Wheeljack agreed.

“The best,” Mirage agreed, and Wheeljack fought to suppress a flash of jealousy. The way Mirage sighed and rubbed his helm against him helped.

“Well, I can tell you the physics behind every one of those stars,” he commented, keeping his tone light. “I always thought the reactions in them were the beautiful thing. All fire and brightness, more than you’d think just by looking at them.”

“So they’re cold from a distance, but burning inside,” Mirage replied.

“Yeah,” Wheeljack nodded. Then he grinned, his helmfins throwing colored light over Mirage’s frame. “Like you.”

Mirage laughed, tilting his head just enough to meet Wheeljack’s optics. “Wheeljack, that is unbelievably corny.”

The inventor chuckled. “Well, I’m not the one who was trained to converse.” He lifted the hand not already on Mirage’s back to let a finger run gently down the spy’s arm. “I just go with what I see.”

“It can be hard for me to fathom,” Mirage admitted. “Even though Hound has tried to teach me how to accept that sometimes mechs simply mean what they say, that there are no hidden barbs or cruel jokes behind them. I never encountered that until I met the Prime.”

“Well,” Wheeljack said, both hands gently stroking Mirage’s plating. “For what it’s worth, hidden barbs and cruel jokes ain’t in my arsenal either.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Mirage replied. He relaxed into Wheeljack’s arms. “I appreciate it more than you may know.”

Wheeljack just hummed in response.

“Can we sit out here for a while?” the spy asked, leaning back until Wheeljack supported quite a bit of his weight. The spy was a slender build, though, and Wheeljack was sturdy. He didn’t mind.

He didn’t mind at all.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

 

They stayed outside for a couple of hours, before Mirage’s dropping fuel levels forced them back inside. Wheeljack watched as Mirage downed his cube, optics dimming, and then as he slowly lay down on the berth again. Within minutes, he was in recharge.

They hadn’t really been up long enough for Mirage to need recharge already. Combined with how much he’d recharged during the day, Wheeljack was beginning to worry a bit. At least now it was late enough that Wheeljack could ask Ratchet about it. The medic always started his shifts early when he had patients in the medbay, and Jazz should still be in there, making his life miserable.

*Hey, Ratch?*

*Jackie? What’s up?*

*Mirage is recharging again. He’s only been awake for about four hours in the last day and a half, is that normal? Should he be recharging that much?*

*Normal? Pit no, it’s not normal,* Ratchet replied, sounding surprised. *But it’s very good, Wheeljack. Mirage recharges too little as it is, and he never recharges after missions, so just let him.* The medic chuckled dryly. *I never expected him to recharge at all. You’re a fragging miracle cure, ‘Jack.*

*I’m just glad it’s working.* Wheeljack looked over at the recharging spy. *Thanks, Ratchet.*

*No problem. Since he’s recharging so well, I’m extending your medical leave for another day at least, and I’ll come by with some more fuel.* He paused. *You can recharge too, you know. Catching up on your defrag won’t kill you.*

*I’m recharging, Ratch. I recharged the whole day away right next to him.*

*Good,* Ratchet said with true feeling. “You’ve never been good at taking care of yourself, so it’s about time. Maybe I’ll start throwing the two of you together on mandatory leave after every mission, just so you’ll both get more than the minimum level of defrag in.” Then he immediately switched into teasing best friend mode. *So? How are things? Should we be expecting an announcement soon?*

“Not unless it’s yours,” Wheeljack teased back. The twins and Ratchet had managed to bond without anyone taking notice, and as far as Wheeljack knew most of the Ark crew still thought they were simply dating.*Do your mates know you’re this curious?*

*Oh please, they know more about me than I care to contemplate,* Ratchet replied. *And curiosity is a good trait. I’m dying to know how you two are doing, you were so cute together when I came by last time.*

*I don’t know,* Wheeljack admitted. *I’m not pushing for anything, Ratch.*

*You refuel in front of him yet?*

Ratchet knew him too well, it seemed. Though that was to be expected from someone who’d been his best friend for almost his entire existence. Wheeljack hesitated. *I don’t want to scare him off.*

*I don’t think he’s the type to run,* his friend replied. *I think he’s better than that. But if he does… Isn’t it better to get it over with fast, before you get too attached?*

Wheeljack sighed, still looking at Mirage. The spy was peaceful again, faceplates slack, quiet systems purring. *Too late for that, Ratch.*

There was silence for a moment. *Then I hope I’m right about him,* Ratchet said firmly. *And if not, he doesn’t deserve you, Wheeljack. You’re a good mech, one of the best, regardless of what your face looks like. If Mirage can’t see that, it’s his loss.*

Wheeljack didn’t respond. He’d heard as much before, before things had gone bad.

Ratchet seemed to sense his reluctance to reply, and let it go. *I’ll drop by with the cubes later today. Refuel and recharge, ‘Jack.*

Wheeljack snorted at the familiar phrase. *Talk to you later, Ratch.* Then he cut the connection.

For a moment more, he just stood, looking down at the peacefully recharging mech on the berth. Mirage was so gorgeous his spark ached.

He was in way too deep already. He knew that.

He forced himself to turn away.

Mirage’s quarters may not have a wash rack attached, but the spy had done his best with what he had. There was a large mirror on the wall opposite the berth, between the door and a shelf full of various polishes, waxes and chamois cloths.

Wheeljack had no mirrors in his quarters. He didn’t see the point.

He didn’t feel the need to look at himself all that often.

Now, though, he took a step closer to the thing. Standing in front of it, he could see Mirage reflected in the mirror, still recharging peacefully.

With hesitant fingers, he reached up and disconnected the locks keeping his blast mask in place.

He’d had millennia to get used to this. To get past the sight of his own face. But he never managed to completely suppress the wince every time he saw it.

The cracked and pitted plating of his cheeks wasn’t so bad. Lots of mechs had scarring like that, though most didn’t have it on their face, and Wheeljack didn’t really mind the rough texture and dull gleam of it.

The rest, of course, was another story.

Not even Ratchet could fix him, for all that he’d tried. The chemical blast that had gone up in his face had taken most of his features with it. If he hadn’t been wearing safety goggles at the time, he would have been rendered blind. As it was…

He made himself look, really focus on the damage. Take in the mangled lump of distorted and diseased-looking metal that had been his nasal ridge once. The deep cracks on both sides of a ruined mouth, facial plating brittle and irritated, surfaces always abrading against each other. The way his lip plates simply weren’t there, save from parts of the upper one, with the left side of the lower half cleaved down to protoform all the way from lip plates to the bottom of his chin. His chin that resembled something Megatron had stomped on more than an actual facial feature at this point. It was nothing but crushed, sick, lumpy metal. He didn’t even have a jawline anymore.

Mirage would run.

How couldn’t he?

Wheeljack popped the seal on an energon cube, draining it as fast as he could, pulling an old drying cloth from his subspace to catch the inevitable spill dribbling down his chin.

Yeah, the spy would run.

Wheeljack dispersed the cube and put his mask back on. Then he went back to the berth, crawling in behind Mirage, putting one arm around the spy’s waist.

He’d at least make the most of it while he could.


	7. Chapter 7

“Wheeljack? Are you in here?”

Wheeljack shut the blowtorch off. He knew that voice. “Yeah, come on in, Mirage, it’s open!”

Getting to watch Mirage step his way across the cluttered floor of Wheeljack’s lab was a gift, the inventor figured. The spy was almost sinfully graceful, moving carefully between unfinished projects and discarded scrap material. The proud little smile he wore when he finally got to Wheeljack’s work table was enough to make the inventor’s spark spin faster.

“I looked for you in the rec room, but you weren’t there,” Mirage said, still smiling. “So I brought you a cube. You don’t have to drink it now.”

“Thank you,” Wheeljack replied, grateful for both the cube and the consideration. “I’m sorry I wasn’t in the rec room. This thing keeps rebelling on me and I forgot to refuel.” He frowned, prodding the holographic display. “I’ve been trying to fix the flaw for two days, and I still haven’t gotten it right.”

“That sounds like a good reason to take a break,” Mirage said, turning and leaning his hip against the table. One optic ridge arched enticingly.

“You look like you have a plan,” Wheeljack countered with a smile. His helmfins lit up the workshop.

“I may have come prepared.” Mirage arched an optic ridge smugly. “Interested?”

_Oh, you have no idea_ , Wheeljack thought. “Sure, I can go for a break. What’s up?”

“There’s this race track not too far from here,” Mirage explained. “Jazz told me about it. I’ve managed to secure the day there. Want to race with me?”

He leaned in as he spoke, and Wheeljack had to suppress an engine rev. “Absolutely.”

 

“You ready?” Mirage asked, rolling on his wheels slightly and revving his engine.

“Ready for anything you’ve got,” Wheeljack replied next to him. “And I’m glad I actually get to see you driving this time, instead of trailing behind an invisible you.”

“Get to see me leave you behind in my wake, you mean,” Mirage said, trying to suppress the smugness and failing. “I was built for this, Wheeljack.”

“I thought you were built to look good,” the inventor teased.

“In all things,” Mirage shot back. “And from every angle. That way, even when you lose, the view’s good.”

“Oh, you’re just begging to be taken down a notch or two, aren’t you, ‘Raj?” Wheeljack rolled aggressively on his own wheels, and Mirage would have grinned if he were in root mode. “Bring it on.”

Their engines revved in sync. Wheels tested their grip against the track surface.

The lights changed.

Mirage flew off down the track instantly, reveling in the feeling. He never got to race full out like this on the roads, since his alt mode wasn’t road legal. Not like Wheeljack, who could drive wherever he wanted.

Mirage had forgotten, though, that the inventor’s alt mode was also a racecar frame.

*Much as I like the view from the rear,* Wheeljack taunted over comms, *I like the view in my rear view mirrors too, you know?* He breezed past Mirage as if the spy was out on a leisure drive. *Serves you right for being invisible all the way here.*

*Oh, I will get you for that,* Mirage replied, all his clever comebacks and sharp barbed words forgotten for the moment.

Wheeljack had a very shapely rear.

_Focus, Mirage_ , he told himself. _You’re moving too fast. And too slow. Speed up, and calm down._

He was more than capable of keeping up with the inventor. Wheeljack’s frame was heavier than his, thanks to the blast-proof plating, so he could probably pass him if he wanted.

Somehow, he didn’t really want to.

Oh, he didn’t slow down. Neither did Wheeljack. But it turned into a game, neither one letting the other overtake him with more than a few meters, both of them speeding up past each other and never letting the other get very far.

It was a lot more fun than Mirage had anticipated.

He lost track of pretty much everything. Not caring about how long they’d been there, how many laps they’d done, how many miles. It was all speed and air resistance and the white Lancia easily keeping up with him.

Mirage pushed his engine into redlining, and still all he noticed was Wheeljack.

It was glorious.

At last, after what seemed like an eternity and not long at all, Wheeljack skidded sideways across the finish line, sliding until he was facing Mirage. *Admitting defeat yet?*

*Why, feeling tired?* Mirage chuckled.

Wheeljack was something to behold like this. The Lancia was dusty, heat radiating off him, his engine still growling hungrily. Mirage really wished he was in root mode, so he could appreciate the sight properly.

So he transformed, slowing down the process just a tad, enough that he knew there were glimpses of cabling and protoform visible between the different pieces of his plating throughout the change. Stretching as he was done to show off his limber frame.

All old tricks. But he could feel Wheeljack’s focus, and that almost had him giddy.

“I think it’s time for a refueling break, don’t you?” he said lightly.

Wheeljack transformed, faster and simpler than Mirage had. “Sounds like a good idea,” he agreed, though he sounded cautious.

He needn’t have worried. Mirage had a plan.

He walked up to Wheeljack, taking the inventor’s hand. That felt more natural than not these days. Sometimes it wasn’t even a conscious decision – Wheeljack’s hand was there, so Mirage took it, only realizing he’d done so when he felt the warm fingers in his. “Come on. I know a place.”

He dragged Wheeljack behind him, much as he had when they’d snuck up on the mountain. Like then, he turned back to smile at the inventor. “It’s not far.”

Not far at all. Outside, up the stairs on the side of the tracks, until they came to the open structure on the roof. Mirage wasn’t at all certain of what it was supposed to be – a balcony maybe, for extra seating? A show room? Whatever it was, it suited his purpose now.

Because aside from the tin roof resting on thick concrete pillars and blocking the view of the sky, the space was open. They could see in all directions.

“Like the mountain,” he explained softly. “Except no one can see us from above. Do you like it?”

“It’s nice,” Wheeljack replied, looking around. “So where are we fueling?”

“Right here.” Mirage pulled out a thick plushy quilt from subspace and spread it out on the ground. “Sit with me?”

Wheeljack hesitated, though, looking at him. And the look in his optics damn near broke Mirage’s spark.

He stepped closer, put a hand on Wheeljack’s chest. “Trust me. Please.”

Wheeljack leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly. Then he nodded. “Where do you want me?”

Mirage took his hand again and led him over to the quilt, giving his shoulders a gentle push downward when he was situated perfectly. “Right here.”

Wheeljack folded down to sit on the floor, facing in the direction where Mirage knew the sun would be setting later.

All according to plan. Good to know that his Towers training had been good for something. For the first time ever he was actually utilizing it for his own sake, on someone he had chosen himself. That felt both fulfilling and like a kick at his long-dead creators at the same time.

“Good,” the spy said softly.

Then he lowered himself down until he was back to back with Wheeljack, fitting perfectly between those winglets. He leaned back against the inventor’s broad frame, reveling in the strength and solidity of it.

Wheeljack was motionless for a moment. Then he chuckled. “You’re something, you know that?”

“Something good, I hope,” Mirage replied smugly. He pulled an energon cube from subspace and handed it back to Wheeljack.

“Yeah,” Wheeljack replied softly, taking the cube. There was the faint click of his facemask unlocking, and Mirage silently congratulated himself. “Yeah, ‘Raj, you’re amazing.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmured, leaning his head back against Wheeljack’s.

He pulled out his own cube, using his own movement to camouflage the way he focused on what the other mech was doing.

He wouldn’t push Wheeljack. But he would learn what he could.

There was a strange slurping sound as Wheeljack drank. A dripping. Wheeljack’s arm moved as he pulled something from his own subspace, wiping at his face.

Mirage drank deeply from his own cube, thinking.

He’d been trained for a lot. The Towers had seen to that. He knew how to work with wings and doorwings, spoilers, central seams and pelvic seams, with gentle touches to faceplates, hands and strong shoulders.

He’d never been taught how to handle a mech who wouldn’t be too ashamed and afraid to remove his blast mask in company. The idea that a third creation would even be in a situation where he needed to affiliate with such an individual would have been ludicrous to any mech in the Towers.

There had to be something that would work, though. Because he wasn’t giving up. Not on Wheeljack.

He drained his cube, listening while Wheeljack emptied his.

“So I believe that was a tie,” he said conversationally.

Wheeljack laughed. “You wish. I owned you.”

Mirage smiled. He was beginning to realize that that was true, and not in the way Wheeljack meant.

There was a faint pop as Wheeljack dispersed his cube.

And Mirage took a gamble.

He wouldn’t push. But he could offer.

“Wheeljack? Is your blast mask on?”

 

“Wheeljack? Is your blast mask on?”

Wheeljack leaned back against the comforting warmth of Mirage’s frame. He wiped the last drops of energon from his chin and subspaced the cloth before reattaching the mask. “It is now.”

“Good.” Then Mirage moved, ducking under his winglet and shifting around his arm, maneuvering himself deftly around his frame.

And right ïnto Wheeljack’s lap.

Interesting.

“Hi,” Wheeljack said softly, placing his hands on Mirage’s hips. “What’s on your mind?”

Mirage smiled. “I do believe this can be counted as our third date.”

Wheeljack canted his head. “Huh. You’re right, I guess. If you count the mountain.”

“Of course I count the mountain.” Mirage grinned. “An evening spent stargazing together would have counted as a date in any Towers household. They may not have placed much value in the scientific nature of the sky, but it does make for a magnificent backdrop.”

Wheeljack laughed.

“According to Hound,” Mirage continued, hands moving up Wheeljack’s arms to rest on his shoulders, “who has it from Bumblebee, who has it from Spike Witwicky, the humans have a third date rule.”

“Really?” Wheeljack’s fingers stroked Mirage’s plating gently, even through the small rise of trepidation he felt at Mirage’s words. This could be good, or it could be very very bad.

“Really,” Mirage confirmed. “Apparently, the third date is when most human couples kiss for the first time.”

Ah. Very, very bad.

…well. He knew it was probably too good to be true, too good for him to keep. He looked down and away.

Mirage caught him, though, one slender, deceptively strong hand on his cheek turning his head back. “Now, that’s not for us,” Mirage said softly, and Wheeljack could only stare at him in surprise. “I won’t pressure you, Wheeljack. I promise that. But there is something else we can do. Something that’ll work for both of us.”

Slowly, ever so carefully, Mirage leaned his head forward until the front of his helm met Wheeljack’s. It was a strangely intimate gesture, there was so much trust in it, and Wheeljack found that his arms had encircled the spy’s waist on their own accord, pulling him close.

“I think you’re amazing, too, Wheeljack,” Mirage whispered, optics focused on Wheeljack’s own. Smiling slightly, he leaned in, soft, elegant lips pressing against the inventor’s blast mask. “And I’m wondering if I can entice you to come on a fourth date with me. And a fifth, and a sixth, and a seventh –“

“As many as you want,” Wheeljack groaned, tightening his hold. He felt incredibly light, suddenly, as if Mirage’s weight was the only thing that was grounding him, the only thing that anchored him to the surface of the planet. “As many as you want, Mirage. You’re – I don’t even know what to say.”

He really didn’t. He had a lap full of warm spy, and Mirage was more than he’d ever dreamed of or thought he’d deserved. A mech who was comfortable turning his back to him just to let him have his privacy, a mech who insisted on him wearing his mask before moving closer, and then kissed his slagging mask afterward. A mech who made his spark spin faster just by existing.

Mirage turned his head aside and burrowed in against Wheeljack’s neck. “I was hoping you would say that,” he said, his voice muffled. His ex-vents were warm on Wheeljack’s throat cabling. “I don’t know what I would say if you’d turned me away.”

“I could never,” Wheeljack murmured, one hand stroking up and down the smooth, silky plating of Mirage’s back. “Though I can’t understand how I got this lucky.”

“You’re lucky?” Mirage said, lifting his head back up to look Wheeljack in the optic. “I’m lucky.” He lifted a hand to run his fingers down Wheeljack’s cheek, from his helm, across his mask and down the line of his chin. “I told you what my life was like. I’m not altogether sure I deserve someone as truly good as you.”

Wheeljack looked up at the spy in wonder. Mirage had this gift of leaving him completely without words, like his processor just stopped working whenever the spy looked at him like that.

Mirage clearly got it though, because he smiled. “You’re also the sweetest, kindest, most gentle person I’ve ever met, I think.” He twisted in Wheeljack’s arms until he was facing the open sky. Then he sighed and leaned back against Wheeljack’s chest, his head against Wheeljack’s shoulder. When the inventor looked down at him, Mirage grinned. “I’m trying to seduce you. Can you tell?”

Wheeljack leaned down, pressing his face against Mirage’s neck in a gesture that would be incredibly intimate and suggestive if his damned blast mask hadn’t been in the way. “I can, actually. Can you tell it’s working?”

Mirage just smiled again, settling back against his chest, fingers drawing gentle, soothing circles on Wheeljack’s arms.

 

It was dark by the time they made their way back to the Ark. Mirage was invisible again, but Wheeljack could feel him – they were driving close enough to each other that if one of them lost control, they would both crash.

For some reason, that didn’t feel terrifying. Instead, it felt safe.

When they pulled up in front of the Ark and transformed together, taking Mirage’s hand felt like the most natural thing in the world.

They hadn’t even gotten to the front gate before the spy hesitated, though. “Wheeljack…”

“What’s wrong?” He let himself be pulled to a stop.

Mirage, strangely, wouldn’t meet his optics. He looked down, perfect denta nibbling at a soft lower lip.

“Hey,” Wheeljack said softly, lifting both hands to cradle Mirage’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Mirage in-vented, then looked at him reluctantly. “Wheeljack, are you certain you want to be seen with me?”

That made Wheeljack do a double-take. “Seen with you? Why wouldn’t I want to be seen with you?”

“Stuck-up Decepticon sympathizer, remember?” Mirage smiled tremulously.

Wheeljack couldn’t help himself. He reached out and pulled the other mech into a hug, holding him tightly against his frame.

“Well, first of all,” he said conversationally. “We’ve already been seen together. The others know we’re friends, or at least they should by now. Second,” and he let his thumb run across Mirage’s cheek strut, “there’s no way in Pit that I would be ashamed to be seen with you. If someone has any issue with seeing the two of us together, then they’re either insanely stupid or jealous of me for dating the most amazing mech on this ship.”

Mirage smiled beatifically. “Thank you, Wheeljack.” He in-vented heavily again. “Shall we go inside, then?”

Wheeljack nodded as he took the spy’s hand again, intertwining their fingers. “Come on.”

They walked inside, Wheeljack nodding briefly at Windcharger and Sideswipe standing guard. The red twin raised a questioning optic ridge at them, but didn’t comment.

Mirage tightened his hold on Wheeljack’s hand.

 

The hallways had never seemed this long. Not even when he came back from missions, spec ops protocols still in force, and had to sneak his way in.

Wheeljack’s hand was a lifeline.

“Don’t be afraid,” the inventor murmured. “Stay with me?”

“Yes,” Mirage whispered, as Ironhide walked past and gave them a nod. He would stay visible for Wheeljack.

Had the Ark always been this crowded?

Sunstreaker was there, lounging against a wall and giving them a tiny, tiny nod as they walked past. Gears and Huffer in heated discussion, walking down the hallway without looking at them. Bumblebee, waving cheerfully.

Prowl. Grapple. Hoist. All of the Aerialbots, walking in a muddle.

Wheeljack never let go of Mirage’s hand. Whenever Mirage thought he’d reached his limit, Wheeljack just pulled him closer. It was a relief, especially when Cliffjumper passed them, shooting them both dirty looks and eyeing their linked hands while muttering under his breath.

“Did you have something to say, Cliffjumper?” Wheeljack asked pointedly.

“No sir,” Cliffjumper forced out, looking like it hurt him to say.

“Good,” Wheeljack said. “Have a good patrol.”

The red minibot passed them, still glaring at where their hands met.

When they finally stopped, after what seemed like forever, Wheeljack pulled Mirage into a hug. “You’re amazing,” he murmured.

“I apologize for my behavior,” Mirage replied. There was an uncomfortable curdle of shame low in his tanks. “I don’t mean to be such a coward.”

Wheeljack cradled his face again. It felt wonderful. “When was the last time you dated someone or made a new friend without getting general scorn for it?”

Mirage sighed, turning his head to nuzzle into Wheeljack’s palm. “I can’t remember. Before the Towers fell, I think. I may even have been a youngling at the time.”

“That’s what I thought,” Wheeljack agreed, thumbs stroking Mirage’s cheeks again. “That’s a lifetime, Mirage. It’s going to take you some time to get past all that. But believe me when I say that barring a few very loud exceptions, most of the ‘Bots here have no issue with you.”

“Intellectually, I know that,” Mirage replied. “But those exceptions are very hard to ignore.”

“Tell me about it,” Wheeljack said, chuckling about it. “The meanest ones are the loudest ones,  aren’t they? And they have much more impact on you than the kind ones do.”

Mirage leaned against him as Wheeljack’s hands slid around his shoulders. “You sound like you speak from experience as well,” he commented softly. “Is it because of this?” He touched Wheeljack’s blast mask carefully.

Wheeljack hesitated. “More what’s beneath it,” he replied finally. “I don’t – I can’t –“

“Shh,” Mirage said, pressing another kiss to the mask. “I told you I’m not going to push. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

Wheeljack pulled him close, pressing his face against Mirage’s throat. “I don’t fragging deserve you,” he grumbled. “Thanks, Mirage.”

“Of course, dearspark,” Mirage whispered.

“Well, you two are about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” someone said cheerfully. “But you’re blocking the hallway, you know.”

Mirage’s head flew up before the voice registered as familiar. He looked over Wheeljack’s shoulder at the grinning Trailbreaker.

“Hey, ‘Breaker,” Wheeljack said, chuckling. “Sorry about that.” He shifted sideways without letting go of Mirage. “Better?”

“Thanks, Jackie,” Trailbreaker replied. He winked at Mirage. “Did you have a nice day?”

Mirage smiled in response, leaning his head against Wheeljack’s. “The best.”

“Great.” The black mech grinned. “I knew you two would be good together.”

Gray hands tightened on Mirage’s plating. They were so close together by that point that Wheeljack’s ex-vents were Mirage’s in-vents.

“Well, don’t let me keep you from enjoying the rest of the evening together,” Trailbreaker said, winking and giving them a cheerful wave as he walked away. “Hound’s waiting for me. Bye, mechs!”

Mirage turned his focus back to Wheeljack, feeling surprised and a little shy. “He thinks we’re going to…”

“Yeah,” Wheeljack said, helmfins blinking an embarrassed pink. “But I’m not ready to…”

Mirage was shaking his head before Wheeljack even finished talking. “Nor am I.” He looked at the keypad to his door. He was strangely reluctant to go inside and have Wheeljack leave – it would mean that the day really was over, and he was not ready for that. “Still. Would you like to come inside?”

Wheeljack hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I would.”

“Good.” Mirage smiled. “Just a moment.” He twisted in those strong arms until he could input his code, then palmed the door open. “Come on then.”

The door shut quietly behind them.


	8. Chapter 8

Their fourth date was a party. Mirage rightfully blamed his commanding officer – Jazz had decreed that any major victory over the Decepticons constituted reason for a party. And since Jazz was in a perfect position to convince Prowl, and Sideswipe’s semi-illegal still appeared as if by magic if the third-in-command simply thought the word ‘high-grade’, the party was on.

Mirage couldn’t disagree with the occasion. There surely was reason to celebrate. They’d beaten the ‘Cons more soundly than they had managed in a good long while, and they’d done it with minimum injuries to themselves.

He was more unsure if he was ready to actually celebrate. If he was ready to make his relationship with Wheeljack public, which it certainly would be after tonight.

Well, more public. They were already holding hands whenever they were together. There were soft smiles and gentle touches. The more observant of the Ark’s crew probably already knew by now.

Though the more observant ones had never been the ones to cause him problems.

Still, despite his apprehension, he waited eagerly in his quarters, pacing between his chessboard and the mirror and constantly checking his finish. When the knock finally came, what he had left of calm and patience evaporated. The door was open before Wheeljack had finished knocking.

Surprised blue optics met his, and Wheeljack lowered his hand slowly. “Wow, Mirage.” He sounded awed. “You look absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you, Wheeljack.” Mirage beamed at him, all traces of nervousness forgotten. Primus, he’d missed Wheeljack, even though it had only been a few hours since they saw each other last. “So do you.”

He let a hand run across the polished white plating on Wheeljack’s chest. Wheeljack caught it in his own and raised it to his mask, pressing their version of a kiss into it. “Ready to go?”

Mirage’s spark spun faster. “Let’s.”

Hand securely held in Wheeljack’s own, Mirage felt calmer. Which was a blessing – he’d been more nervous about this than he’d been for his own debut ball. There was more riding on this, somehow.

At least they were fashionably late, and the high-grade was already flowing, so most of the others didn’t notice them come in. Wheeljack led him to a table in the back, where Ratchet and the twins were already seated. Mirage’s nerves made a comeback as he sat down. None of it showed on his face, of course, he was better trained than that.

And no one would notice if he held Wheeljack’s hand extra hard for a few moments. No one but the only person that mattered, and he simply held on just as tightly.

“Hey, you two!” Ratchet grinned and raised a half-empty cube of high-grade at them. “’Bout time you joined us. Any later and you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

Mirage eyed him skeptically. “I don’t think I could have kept up even had I started yesterday, Ratchet.”

Sideswipe snorted, and Mirage suppressed a wince. “No one can. He’s got the highest tolerance level of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“And tonight I’m under orders to indulge,” Ratchet agreed. He leaned forward suddenly and slid something towards Wheeljack. “Here. I promise this one won’t melt.”

Mirage stared at the clear piece of tubing. Wheeljack just picked it up, though, slipping one end into the cube Sunstreaker passed him. The other end, he inserted under his mask. "Thanks."

It was a drinking straw.

_That’s clever. I’ll have to remember that._

Sideswipe slid a cube over to Mirage as well. “Here, if you want one that is. I never see you drink much.”

“I may not be indulging to the point Ratchet is,” Mirage replied dryly, “but yes, I do enjoy high-grade. Thank you.”

The red twin waved the thanks away. “No problem. It’s probably not much compared to what you were used to, is it?”

Mirage sipped at the high-grade. It was strong, burning on the way down, and there was an odd aftertaste from the refining process that they hadn’t managed to get rid of, but it was far from horrible. In fact, it was quite good.

“With what’s available to you, I’m very impressed at what you’ve managed to produce here,” he said honestly, taking another swallow. “I’m sure you could equal the products available back then if you had the right equipment and resources.”

Sideswipe grinned in delight, and even Sunstreaker almost smiled.

“See, I told you he was nice,” Ratchet muttered into his cube.

Wheeljack beamed a smile in Mirage’s direction. “He is _really_ nice.”

Mirage hid behind his cube.

“Hey, I bet you know all the fancy dances,” Sideswipe said suddenly. “Do you know the one where the music goes dun-dun-DUN-dun dun-dun-DUN-dun DUN-DUN-DUN and you do that weird thing with your hands?”

Mirage must have looked like a question mark, because Ratchet laughed hard into his now empty cube.

“You know which one I mean, Sunny!” Sideswipe turned to his twin in desperation. “The one we had to learn for that party where Flitter wanted both of us, but he was so terrified of you that I ended up having to come alone. Where they got me so overcharged on that damn fancy high-grade that I purged all over our berth.”

“The Xanthe,” Sunstreaker supplied.

Mirage straightened in surprise. “You know the Xanthe?”

Sideswipe nodded. “Want to see if I still got it?” He got up from his chair to walk around the table and give Mirage an elaborate bow. “Would you give me the honor of this dance, Mirage?”

There was no polite way to refuse, much as Mirage would have liked to. Uncertain, he glanced towards Wheeljack and Ratchet.

Even halfway to overcharged off his pedes, Ratchet was observant. “It’s not a joke,” he said softly. “I’d reformat him if he was that cruel.”

 _Well, in that case…_ Mirage took the proffered hand and stood up. “It would be my pleasure.”

Sideswipe led them to the center of the dance floor and bowed again, giving Mirage enough time to hurriedly send a comm to Blaster and ask him to change the music. It was bad enough that he had to do this again and bring the focus back to his Towers background. He absolutely refused to do so to the chaotic Earth music Blaster preferred.

When the music changed he bowed back, raising his right palm to meet Sideswipe’s. Then they began moving in synchronicity.

Sidestep, sidestep, heads inclined, switch hands, sidestep back. Step in, that ridiculous hand flutter Mirage had always hated, brief touches to each other’s cheek, then back out again.

Sideswipe was better at this than Mirage had expected. Mirage was just about to compliment him when the red twin winked. “So I bet you hate this as much as I do.”

Step left, then close in again.

“Probably,” Mirage agreed. “If you dislike this so much, why did you ask me to dance?”

“No one else knows this slag,” the red twin replied. “So it’s a good chance to talk to you without interruptions.”

Spin, turn, turn back, sidestep twice and step in again.

“Talk to me about what?”

“Wheeljack,” Sideswipe replied. “I’m here to tell you that if you hurt him, we’ll be leaving you in fragments so small that there’ll be nothing for Ratchet to put back together. Even if he wanted to.” He smiled again, looking for all the world like they were just having a friendly conversation.

Well. Two could play that game.

Mirage chuckled lightly as they sidestepped again. “Does Ratchet need you to deliver his threats now? Will you take over wrench-wielding next?”

“Ratchet’s too damn nice to say anything. Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sideswipe nodded and smiled as if agreeing with what Mirage said. “This is pure me and Sunny. Jackie’s Ratchet’s best friend.”

“And I can’t possibly be after anything but hurting him,” Mirage said conversationally. Spin, turn back again, step in, another touch to cheeks. “I’m only going to say this once, Sideswipe. What I do with Wheeljack is none of your business. So stay out of it.” He smiled again, covering up his fury.

“It’ll become my business if Ratchet doesn’t like how you treat him,” Sideswipe replied, shaking his head and chuckling. “Wheeljack’s had enough slag happen to him, he doesn’t need more.”

Sidestep, sidestep, switch hands again, turn together.

“You all assume I’ll be adding to that,” Mirage said icily, his tone contrasting sharply with his pleasant smile. “So eager to believe the worst of me.”

Sideswipe shrugged, an easy grin on his face. He was still following the steps effortlessly. “I actually don’t give a damn about you one way or the other. Though I do tend to think you’re an arrogant, aft-headed fragger. We care about ‘Jack, not about you.” Turn, turn, spin together. “Just consider this the last friendly warning you’ll get.”

Mirage didn’t have an answer to that. Luckily, he didn’t need one. As the music ended, he gave the traditional bow, seething inside. “Thank you for the dance,” he said coolly.

“Anytime!” Sideswipe grinned. “Let me get you back to your date.”

The music changed again as they headed back to the table, where Ratchet looked to have emptied two more cubes in their absence. As soon as they were within reach, Ratchet reached out and dragged Sideswipe down into a sloppy kiss.

“Now you owe me a dance,” he slurred. “Both of you. Come on.”

Mirage sat down gracefully, watching the overcharged medic drag his two mates back to the dance floor. As soon as they were out of earshot, Mirage downed the rest of his almost-full cube in one go.

Wheeljack touched his shoulder gently. “Are you all right? You looked like you were having fun out there, but perhaps not?”

“Suffice it to say, Sideswipe gave me a pointed reminder of how the others see me,” Mirage replied with a sigh. “Also, I absolutely loathe the Xanthe.”

He fought against the desire to fade out of sight. After that little chat, the last thing he wanted was for it to look like he’d abandoned Wheeljack.

Besides, Wheeljack wanted him to be visible.

“What did he say?” Wheeljack frowned.

“Nothing I care to repeat,” Mirage said darkly. He glanced at Wheeljack’s half-empty cube. “Shall I get you another?”

“No.” Wheeljack shook his head. “I’m good. But you’re not.” He took Mirage’s hand, caressed his fingers. “Want to get out of here?”

Mirage sighed again, looking down. Despite that his brain was trying to tell him that he was overreacting, despite Hound's spending the last few centuries trying to make him forget the Towers lessons that messed with his self-esteem, despite Wheeljack looking at him with nothing but care and affection right now, he was ashamed of himself. “Please. If you don’t mind."

Wheeljack looked towards the dance floor, where Ratchet was practically hanging from the twins’ shoulders. “Let’s go, then,” he decided. “We won’t be missed.”

 

They ended up back in Wheeljack’s quarters. Mirage sat down at Wheeljack’s beckoning, and the inventor dropped down on the berth next to him.

When Wheeljack put an arm around his shoulders, Mirage leaned into it gratefully.

“So what was it Sideswipe told you?”

Mirage shook his head. “He was being an aft.”

“Mirage.” Wheeljack’s voice was gentle but firm, and Mirage caved, curling in against the other mech’s side.

“Oh, all right. It was your basic warning. Hurt our mate’s friend and we will destroy you. I’ve been expecting something of the sort, really. I’m apparently not good enough for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” There was a trace of anger in Wheeljack’s voice. “I’m going to have words with Sideswipe.”

“Please don’t,” Mirage murmured. “He’s just doing what he thinks is right.”

“But it’s wrong,” Wheeljack countered.

Mirage pulled away from Wheeljack’s arm and slipped into his lap instead. He made sure that Wheeljack was looking at him. “Standing up for someone you care about is never wrong. I’m glad you have friends, Wheeljack.”

“Some friends. They’re mean to you.”

“That’s not new, and I can take it.” He put his head on Wheeljack’s shoulder. “Yes, I wish they didn’t all think that I’m going to take your spark and stomp on it. I have never been cruel to a partner in my life, and still everyone thinks I’m going to hurt you. I guess I have to earn the benefit of the doubt.”

Wheeljack was quiet for so long that Mirage was beginning to wonder if he was in recharge. Then the other mech sighed. “I can’t speak for all of them. But for Ratchet’s part, and the twins by extension, it probably has more to do with me than with you.”

“Sideswipe called me an arrogant, aft-headed fragger,” Mirage said dryly. “How does that have more to do with you than with me?”

“I _will_ have words with Sideswipe,” Wheeljack muttered darkly. His arms tightened possessively around Mirage. “Ratchet doesn’t think that of you, I promise. He likes you well enough. But he’s very protective of me. My other relationships never ended well, and Ratchet had to pick the pieces up every time.”

“Because of this?” Mirage reached up to touch Wheeljack’s mask.

The inventor looked away. “Yeah.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Mirage gathered his courage. “Wheeljack, do _you_ believe I will hurt you?”

Wheeljack glanced him. His eyes tightened, pulling Mirage closer and putting their foreheads together. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “It’s not pretty, ‘Raj. You might leave me, like the others did. That would hurt. But I wouldn’t blame you.”

Those words were more upsetting to Mirage than Sideswipe had been. “You should be.”

“What?” Wheeljack backed up, stared down at him.

“You should be,” Mirage repeated. He touched Wheeljack’s mask again. “If I choose to let whatever you’re hiding behind this mask outweigh how truly good, kind and attractive you are, and leave you because of it, then I’m a bad person who doesn’t deserve you and you should hate me for it. I would deserve that.” He pushed gently at Wheeljack’s shoulders until the other mech lay back on the berth, letting them curl up together. Wheeljack was still staring at him.

“I’m going to earn your trust, Wheeljack,” Mirage murmured, resting his head against that strong white chassis and dimming his optics. “In your own time.”

 

He was almost in recharge when Wheeljack began talking. The sound had Mirage turning his head slightly, enough so that he could look up at Wheeljack’s shadowed face.

“I went to the science academy,” Wheeljack began softly. “A rising star, one of their brightest students. Graduated with flying colors, finished my first apprenticeship with glowing recommendations. Dated a few mechs here and there, nothing serious. I wanted to learn, so I threw all I had into my studies and work.”

He glanced at Mirage, and Mirage waited patiently.

“My second apprenticeship was with a mech called Spanner,” Wheeljack continued after a moment. “Don’t let the name fool you, he was a brilliant engineer. He’d worked on the kind of projects I’d always dreamed about working on – energon refining in zero gravity, energy conservation in high performance space-capable engines, solar shields, the lot. Needless to say, I was thrilled. And no shortage of starstruck.” He smiled, optics crinkling and helmfins flashing merrily.

“Spanner was good-looking, too. Not Sunstreaker-gorgeous, but he was handsome, and dignified, and cheerful. I was attracted to him instantly. I wanted to earn his respect, and maybe more.” The smile gave way to a frown. “I think it was my desire to impress him that caused it, really. Though it was an accident. The chemical solution I was working on, meant as an additive for high-powered engines exposed to radiation, proved more volatile than I expected, and I got too close. I ignored the danger signals because I wanted to see the results.” He chuckled grimly. “I’ve always been good at making things blow up.”

Mirage waited, watching.

“Spanner was really good about it. Kind. Rushed me to the hospital, took care of my medical bills. There were a lot of them. The solution had burned so intensely hot that it had eaten into my protoform.”

Wheeljack took a deep in-vent, and Mirage could feel him tensing. “My face was ruined,” the inventor said softly. “My optics survived because I’d been wearing safety goggles. Everything below them was covered in horrific burns. The doctors repaired what they could, but there wasn’t much they could do. There’s no reconstructing protoform.” He chuckled again, and Mirage had a strong feeling that there was a well of grief and pain under the sound. “Spanner was there when I woke up after one such failed attempt. He sat with me, promised I could come back to my apprenticeship as soon as I felt like it. That he hadn’t lost faith in my skills and talent as a scientist. And then he patted my hand and said ‘I’m so sorry about your face being ruined. The doctors say you're stuck like this, too, unfortunately. It’s such a shame – you were so very handsome.’” Wheeljack's voice broke.

Mirage suddenly hated Spanner with every fiber of his being. He absolutely _loathed_ the mech. For a brief moment, he toyed with the idea of tracking the slagger down and making him suffer, but then Wheeljack trembled slightly, and all thoughts of anyone else were forgotten.

That was the source of Wheeljack’s insecurities, Mirage realized. If Wheeljack had terrible scars, that would explain why he was hiding his face. And why he didn’t refuel in company – if the protoform was ruined, chances were Wheeljack’s face wasn’t working as it should. And if someone he’d been attracted to had spurned him because of it… No wonder he expected getting hurt.

He knew Wheeljack expected him to be horrified, to walk away. But at the moment, all Mirage could feel was sympathy.

And a solid dose of hatred for the mech who had _hurt_ _his Wheeljack_.

“I’m sorry, dearspark,” he murmured, one hand stroking pale plating. “That sounds painful.”

“Sheer agony,” Wheeljack agreed, and Mirage was pleased to notice some of the tension leaving him. “I spent an age in hospital, going through surgery after surgery after surgery, so they could at least try to minimize the damage and restore some function to my jaw. And then they gave up. There was nothing more they could do.” He snorted, and Mirage suppressed a sigh. “Ratchet didn’t accept that, of course. He was my best friend even then, still on his second apprenticeship, but he jumped specializations immediately and went into burn damage. He dug up obscure treatments and experimental surgeries and I don’t even know what more, working himself into forced recharge for me. And he managed to restore a lot more function to my muscle fibers. But he couldn’t heal the protoform.”

“Ratchet is formidable,” Mirage agreed. “I’m not surprised to hear he started out that way.”

“Ratchet is like one of those snow things they have here,” Wheeljack said. “Like an avalanche. You get out of the way, or he pulls you along with him.” He chuckled, and this time it was a purely happy sound.

“That’s apt.” Mirage smiled and snuggled closer to Wheeljack. “So did you go back to work?”

“Yeah.” Wheeljack’s fingers were drawing soothing circles on the back of Mirage’s hand. “Eventually, we gave up and I went back to work. My wounds didn’t close properly, so I started wearing the blast mask to not contaminate them. And then I noticed that with the mask, people didn’t flinch around me anymore. I was just another scientist again.” He ex-vented. “So I never stopped wearing it. I’ve tried taking it off a few times, when I met someone who – I mean –“

“You tried to trust,” Mirage finished for him. “And then they weren’t worthy of you.”

“Not the way I would have phrased it, but yeah,” Wheeljack said.

Mirage looked up at him again. “You’d say it differently?”

“No one wants to see this face every day, Mirage,” Wheeljack said, and the grief in his tone was almost palpable.

“Well, I’m looking at your face every day and enjoying it,” Mirage replied, “but I do understand what you mean to say, even if I don't agree.”

Wheeljack stared at the ceiling. There was a rigidity in his posture that told Mirage that the inventor was trying very hard not to react. Mirage would bet that he was reliving some very bad memories, and probably wondering when Mirage would just get up and leave.

So he did the opposite. He draped himself across the other mech, one thigh across Wheeljack’s hips, one arm slipping in behind his shoulders, his helm resting against Wheeljack’s chest. “I’m sorry you got hurt like that. Both by the explosion and by the ones who should have loved you afterward.”

Slowly, Wheeljack’s arm came to rest around Mirage’s back. The inventor tilted his helm slightly and nuzzled Mirage’s helm.

The hum of Wheeljack’s systems was soothing. Mirage’s optics dimmed. Before long, he slipped into recharge there on Wheeljack’s chest.

 

Two days later Mirage was walking towards the CMO’s office. He’d onlined in Wheeljack’s arms the day after the party with a strong determination to do something, but no clear idea what exactly he should do. It had taken him a while to come up with something, but he needed some more information to make sure he got it right. So he’d given it a little longer just to make sure Ratchet had sobered up properly. He didn’t enjoy dealing with a grumpy Ratchet on a regular day, and even less when he was hungover, and as Wheeljack’s best friend and medic Ratchet was probably the only one who could help.

He found Ratchet in his office, as expected. The CMO was half-hidden behind stacks of datapads.

“Ratchet? May I impose on some of your time?”

The medic looked up in surprise. “Mirage? Yeah, sure, come on in. You’re not injured, are you?”

Mirage shook his head. “I am fine. This is a personal call.” He shut the door behind him.

“Have a seat.” Ratchet shifted some datapads aside and offered a slight smile. “How can I help?”

Mirage sat, weighing his words carefully. “I have some questions about Wheeljack’s scars.”

The smile melted away from Ratchet’s face as if it had never been there. “Okay, first of all,” he said angrily, “I won’t betray medic-patient confidentiality. Second, if you came here to tell me how disgusting they are and if can I please try to fix him again so you can bear dating him, you can get out of here right now. And you can get the slag away from Wheeljack, because he deserves better than that.”

Mirage was suddenly furious. Now he had to take this from Ratchet, too? “You’re right, he does deserve better than that.” His voice was ice, and he knew he looked as angry as he felt. “And I have no intention of asking you to ‘fix’ anything. I came here to ask you, as his medic and friend, how I can make it easier for him to trust me with them and how I can make him more comfortable with himself. But if you’re instantly going to believe the worst of me, just like everyone else, I’d rather try to figure it out on my own. Goodbye, Ratchet.” He stood and turned to leave.

There was a sigh from behind him. “Mirage, sit down. Please.”

Mirage shot him an annoyed look, but complied.

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet said softly. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that. But you have to understand. Every time Wheeljack’s dated someone, every time he’s trusted someone enough to remove his mask, they show up in my office without his knowing and beg me to repair the damage. Never mind that he’d already told them that it couldn’t be done, never mind that it destroyed Wheeljack every time it happened, every time his lover went behind his back like that. For him to offer his greatest shame and weakness to them, the one thing that’s destroyed his self-esteem, and then they call him hideous and stomp on his trust like it's nothing...” He sighed. “Suffice it to say that I’m sick of it, sick of seeing him hurt over and over again.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Mirage replied. “And Wheeljack is not hideous.”

“His scars are,” Ratchet said bluntly. “Be realistic, Mirage. You’re doing him no favors by sugarcoating it. I love the mech, he’s been my best friend forever, but his scars are bad. You know, you’ve seen them.”

Mirage shook his head. “I haven’t.”

Ratchet’s optics widened. “You haven’t?”

“No. He’s merely told me how it happened. But I’m a spy, Ratchet. Gathering information is my function. Wheeljack’s fueled in my company, though not while I was looking at him, and while my audials may not be as sharp as Jazz’s are, I do know how to use them.” He leaned forward slightly, trying to impress on the medic what this meant to him. “I know he’s hurting, Ratchet. And I want to help.”

“Fine, I’ll buy that,” Ratchet replied after a moment. “What did you want to know? Bear in mind that I can’t betray his confidence.”

“Of course,” Mirage agreed. “I merely wanted some advice.”

Ratchet nodded. “Shoot.”

“As I said, I haven’t seen them,” Mirage began, considering his words carefully again. “But from what I’ve noticed, fueling seems to be a messy affair for him. So I wondered if energon gels would be better than liquid fuel. I have some skill in making gelled candies.”

That earned him an appraising look. “That’s a detailed observation for someone who claims to not be observing. And yes, you’re right, liquid energon is messy. Gelled energon without a liquid core would be better. No hard solids, that’s almost as bad as liquids.” Ratchet treated him to another, genuine smile. “That’s very thoughtful of you, ‘Raj. I think Wheeljack would really appreciate that.”

“I hope so,” Mirage confided. “He doesn’t completely trust me yet, which I can understand, but I want to prove to him that he’s a good mech.” He paused. “Can I ask you something else?” At Ratchet’s nod, he continued. “At the party, you gave him a drinking straw. Does that help?”

“He manages better with that, yes. But it’s not for everyday use. He’s not comfortable with others focusing on his fueling.”

Mirage frowned slightly. “What about in private? Would it make him feel more comfortable then?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Ratchet shrugged. “I’ll find some for you, so you can check for yourself.” He leaned forward, picking up a random datapad. “Now if that was all…”

“Just one more question, please.”

“Fine. One more. Then get out of here and leave a mech to work.” His smirk belied the harsh words.

Mirage hesitated before asking. This was bordering on the medical information that Ratchet wouldn’t tell him, and they both knew it. “Do they hurt him? The scars?”

Ratchet gave him a shrewd look. “With protoform-deep injuries that do not heal completely, there’s almost always a degree of discomfort afterward. The degree of pain varies with the seriousness of the injury, and for some it can be constantly painful. Very bad injuries require pain blockers regularly administered. Mechs with those kinds of injuries seldom make it.”

Mirage nodded. That was clever, giving him the information he asked for without giving away anything specific to Wheeljack's case. “Thank you, Ratchet.”

He received a sharp look in return. “I’m telling you this because you seem to care about Wheeljack. Don’t let me down, kid.”

“I will not.” He stood again and walked to the door. “I appreciate the assistance.”

“Wheeljack deserves someone good,” Ratchet said from behind him. “Be that someone.”

Mirage nodded and left. He had preparations to make.


	9. Chapter 9

Wheeljack paced the halls like a mech on a mission. Which he was, in a way, even if his mission consisted of distracting himself from worrying about how long Mirage had been gone and whether Jazz was protecting him properly and if they’d be safe, and trying very, very hard to not imagine the worst.

He didn’t really care if their mission succeeded or not at this point. He just wanted his spy back safe and in one piece.

Mirage had at least been able to stop by and tell him himself that he was leaving. He’d smiled that gorgeous smile of his, and kissed Wheeljack’s mask, and told him not to worry, that he would be back soon.

Don’t worry. Like that was possible.

He looked up and found himself outside the rec room. Not where he’d meant to go, but it would do. So he pushed the door open, hoping the place wasn’t completely empty.

Well. Not completely. And the mech inside was one he’d been wanting to give a piece of his mind for some time now.

“Sideswipe.”

The red twin turned away from the dispenser and smiled. “Oh, hey, Wheeljack! How’s it hanging?”

“Good, good.” He walked up behind the other mech. Sideswipe was filling his third cube, meaning he was bringing fuel back to both his mates. That suited Wheeljack’s purposes just fine. “Hey, Sides, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Well, I can listen and fill up a cube at the same time,” Sideswipe quipped. “What’s on your mind?”

“Mirage told me what you said to him at the party where you two danced. And I don’t like it.”

Sideswipe turned, the three cubes stacked in his hands and a look of surprise on his face. “We’re just looking out for you, ‘Jackie.”

Wheeljack shook his head. “No. No, that’s not what you’re doing. What you’re doing is threaten someone I care very much about with no credible reason. If you were actually looking out for me, you’d be nice to him.”

Sideswipe looked at him skeptically. “And if you get hurt again, Wheeljack? What then?”

“Then he’s hurting too,” Wheeljack insisted. “Not that it’s any of your business, Sideswipe, and I’m sure he told you that as well, but we care about each other a lot. So stay out of it. Ratchet has my permission to meddle because we go way back, and he knows me better than I know myself. You, on the other hand, don’t know me at all. So back the hell off.” He was half surprised to see his finger stabbing against Sideswipe’s chest, but the steadily rising level of fury he felt might explain that. “And tell your brother that as well.”

Sideswipe’s eyes narrowed at him. Then he chuckled. “Sir, yes sir.” He started walking away, before turning his head and winking. “Good on you for finally finding your backbone and standing up for yourself. I guess he really has been good for you.”

Wheeljack didn’t know what to say to that. He stood staring after the red mech until Sideswipe had left the room.

Somehow, he didn’t quite think he’d gotten that through the way he wanted.

On Sideswipe’s heels, catching the door before it had swung shut, Prowl entered. He was looking back the way he had come, and when he finally turned and saw Wheeljack his expression was almost wry. As close to it as Prowl got, anyway.

“Care to explain why Sideswipe was chuckling as he walked away?” he said, stepping up to the dispenser and preparing a cube.

“He was _chuckling_? Primus, I knew I got it wrong.” Wheeljack sighed. “I tried to tell him to back off Mirage. Guess I failed.”

“He’s been giving Mirage a hard time?” Prowl’s ice blue optics hardened.

Wheeljack shook his head. “I think he’s one of the better ones, actually, but he told Mirage some things he didn’t have the right to say.”

Prowl nodded. “I think I understand. I have personal experience with something similar to what you refer to, I believe. Primus knows I heard many such things when Jazz first took up with me.”

That surprised Wheeljack. “You did? Why?”

Prowl shrugged, a tiny, eloquent twitch of his doorwings. “I was an emotionless drone, remember? Or maybe you don’t, we didn’t have too much to do with each other back then. But I lived for my work, never socialized with anyone, kept my distance. When Jazz and I first got together, I was told quite frequently that mecha didn’t know what he could be seeing in me, that I was not good enough for him, and that I wasn’t even a real mech so what would someone as vibrant as Jazz ever want with me?” He sealed his cube calmly. “The most common theory was that he kept me around as a pleasure drone.”

Wheeljack stared. “That’s… That’s horrible. What did you do?”

Prowl reached for a second cube, then paused and pulled his hand back. No mate to bring a cube back for this time. Wheeljack understood the feeling.

“Whenever a threat or nasty comment was made in a manner I could prove,” Prowl replied, “I handed over the evidence to Ironhide or Ultra Magnus, or even Optimus. Quite a few mechs were punished for disrespecting a superior officer or threatening serious harm.” A brief, tiny smile appeared on the tactician’s face. “And in the end, we proved everyone wrong.”

“I can’t see how anyone would doubt you.” Wheeljack shook his head. “You two are perfect for each other.”

Prowl smiled at him. “Thank you. And likewise.”

“Really?” the inventor replied, optics widening. “You think so?”

“Yes. You and Mirage are both deeply caring and loyal personalities, with a fierce protective streak. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to find each other.” Prowl drew another cube and handed it to Wheeljack. “You’re worried about him right now, aren’t you?”

“Terrified,” Wheeljack admitted. “I don’t know what to do with myself. How do you manage?”

“I have complete faith in Jazz,” the SIC replied. “We have done this many, many times. And I’m still scared to death that he won’t come back to me.” He shrugged again, choosing a seat close to the dispenser. Wheeljack dropped down opposite him as Prowl continued. “Sometimes it helps to look over the mission briefs. Sometimes that makes everything worse. Sometimes I drive myself up the wall, burying myself in work. Sometimes physical activity is the only thing that can distract me, so I end up doing endless laps or sparring bouts. It varies.”

“What about this time?” Wheeljack almost didn’t dare to ask.

“I’ve studied the mission briefs.” Prowl frowned slightly at him, then reached into his subspace and pulled out a datapad. “Here. The redacted version, and you will of course not mention this to anyone else.” His voice was soft. “I know it’s hard for you, especially since this is the first mission he’s been on since you two got together. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

Wheeljack nodded. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“Of course.” Prowl downed the rest of his cube and stood. “Try to have faith, Wheeljack. Jazz will take care of him.”

Wheeljack murmured something in response. He was already focused on the datapad, determined to find out exactly what Mirage could be doing at that moment.

 

“Wheeljack?”

The inventor looked up from the simulation, tired optics focusing on the mech in the doorway. “Oh. Hi, Hound. What brings you down here?”

“I’m fulfilling a promise.” The green mech smiled and held up an energon cube. “Mirage made me swear that I’d make sure you fueled.”

That had Wheeljack chuckling. “He did, did he? Well, thanks. Come on in.”

“Cool. So what are you working on?” Hound picked his way across the floor with less grace and more noise than Wheeljack’s usual visitor.

“I have no idea,” Wheeljack groaned. “All I can seem to do is make things blow up. I can’t focus.”

“Maybe you should be constructing bombs,” Hound quipped. He sobered up quickly when he saw the look on what was visible of Wheeljack’s face. “Sorry. I know you’re worried. But listen, he’ll be back soon.” Hound’s voice was gentle as he put the cube down on the only free space he could find. “’Raj always comes back.” He watched with avid interest as the simulation once again collapsed in fake flames. “Hey, do you need to get out of here for a while? There’s a gaming duel in the rec room in a bit – Sideswipe is taking on Smokescreen in some sort of battle game.” It was apparently quite clear from Wheeljack’s expression what he thought of that, because Hound hurried on. “Or Trailbreaker and I are heading outside with Bumblebee and Groove to look for bobcats.”

“Bobcats? Really?” Wheeljack laughed, shaking his head. “Thanks, mech, but no thanks. Tempting as it sounds, I kind of want to stay on base. You know, in case –“

“In case Mirage comes back,” Hound finished for him. “I get that. When’s he supposed to be back, anyway?”

Wheeljack hesitated. Prowl had told him not to tell anyone about the redacted mission briefs, after all. “Oh, one of these days,” he replied vaguely.

Hound grinned, seemingly not offended by the non-answer. “Bet you’re anxious to have him back.”

Wheeljack shut down the simulator and dumped into his chair. “You have no idea. I’ve been waiting for him to come back ever since he said he was leaving. It’s…” He threw up his hands in annoyance. He didn’t have Mirage’s skills with words, but he was usually a bit less lost for them.

“You keep imagining the worst,” Hound said quietly. “Every possible scenario runs through your mind, always with the worst possible outcome. You worry constantly. Recharge is difficult at best, impossible at worst. You pace endlessly, have problems staying still, and can’t relax.”

“Yeah,” Wheeljack agreed heavily. “All of that.”

Hound nodded. “Thought as much. I know the feeling. He’s been my best friend for ages, I’ve learned to live with it.” He sat down on the only other chair in the room, after relieving it of its cargo of datapads and loose wires. “Want some advice?”

“Please.” First Prowl, now Hound. Wheeljack found himself wondering who else aboard this ship knew how it was to live with loving a Spec Ops mech.

… Loving.

The word threw him so badly that he barely caught what Hound was saying.

“You should ask him about it,” the green mech said. “Not about the specific missions, because trust me, that’ll give you recharge terrors, but about what you’re afraid of. I’m betting you he has a plan for every single scenario you can come up with. He’s good, ‘Raj is.”

“I know he is.” Wheeljack picked up a coil of wire and fiddled with it. Even sitting still was beyond him these days. “I’m a bit afraid of knowing too much of what he goes through, though.”

“That’s why you don’t ask about the actual missions,” Hound explained. “But whatever you’re imagining isn’t going to be close to the mission details. So he can put those fears at rest at least. Just try it, huh?”

“Sure,” Wheeljack agreed, eager now to get the scout to leave so he could sort out his messy thoughts. “That sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Hound. And thanks for the energon.” He sighed, standing again and making a show of turning on the blasted simulator again. “Now I really should be trying to get this to work.”

“You got it,” Hound replied cheerfully. “If you want company, you know where the rec room is. See you around, Wheeljack!”

“Yeah, thanks, Hound.” He waved distractedly at the other mech, then suddenly turned to look at him again. There was something he’d meant to ask. “Hey, Hound? How come you haven’t given me the talk about what you’ll do to me if I hurt him?”

Hound, to his credit, just looked confused. “Why would I do that? You’re both my friends, Wheeljack.” Then he smiled, and disappeared out. “Got to go. Bye, Jackie!”

As easy as that.

Wheeljack was briefly angry that Mirage didn’t have it so easy. It didn’t last long, though – nothing did, these days, except the worry.

Loving.

Huh.

 

Wheeljack was pacing from the lab to the rec room to the weapons range to the Dinobots’ den to the lab for the fourteenth time that day when the call finally, finally came in.

*Ratchet? What’s up?*

*Your mech’s back,* Ratchet replied, and by the tone of his voice Wheeljack knew that Mirage was fine. The relief was almost enough to knock him to his knees. *He’s fit to be released, eager for it really, but he wants to be released into your care for the mandatory down-time. You fine with me sending him directly to your quarters?*

Wheeljack spun on his heel, heading back the way he’d come, before swerving towards the rec room instead to stock up on energon. *Yeah, sure. I’ll meet him there.*

Ratchet swore. *Good, because he’s already gone. If he doesn’t have your code, expect to find your door hacked.*

Wheeljack chuckled. *Understood. Hey, were there any injuries this time? What’re his orders?*

*He’s fine, Jazz is fine, it’s all fine. I’m rid of both of them already, which is pretty much as good as it gets. Recharge and refuel as needed, he’s on two days’ leave, but he’s okay, ‘Jack.* Ratchet switched from medic-mode to best friend-mode. *Enjoy your downtime. I’ll flag both of you as not to be disturbed.* If Wheeljack didn’t know better, he’d say the medic was leering. It wasn’t a common expression for Ratchet anymore, but now that he was mated to Sideswipe, some old habits seemed to be resurfacing. Wheeljack wasn’t sure at this point whether the frontliner was a good or a bad influence, though he was leaning towards good. Even with the lewdness and the innuendos.

*Thanks, Ratch. I’ll head back now.*

If he walked even faster than usual, well, he had good reason.

Mirage was back. Mirage was waiting for him.

The energon dispenser in the rec room was working really slowly. Wheeljack had a hard time standing still for as long as it took to fill up his cubes. He’d need to have a look at that some other time, see what was wrong. Not now.

Mirage was waiting.

Subspace finally full of sealed energon cubes, he headed towards his quarters.

He’d barely gotten his door open before his arms were full of warm, affectionate spy.

“Hello, Wheeljack,” Mirage purred, melting against him.

Warm, affectionate, smelling _so good_ , and back with him. Wheeljack tightened his arms around Mirage and closed the door behind them.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” he sighed, walking a very clingy Mirage backward until his legs bumped into the berth. Turning them both, Wheeljack sat down, pulling the other mech into his lap. “I’ve missed you a lot. Have you refueled?”

“Ratchet didn’t let me leave before I’d downed one cube,” Mirage said with a quiet chuckle. “Even coming off Spec Ops protocols, I have more sense than arguing with him.”

“Clever mech,” Wheeljack agreed.

“He also made sure I brought enough fuel and coolant for the both of us,” Mirage continued, nodding towards Wheeljack’s small side table.

The cubes were stacked three high, energon and coolant alternating in a pattern that reminded Wheeljack faintly of Cybertron for some reason. And it had him laughing. “I guess we won’t need these then.” Shifting Mirage to the side, he emptied his own subspace. The cubes fit under the table, illuminating the dark space under his berth. “Heh. We have enough fuel to stay in here for a week.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Mirage purred, and suddenly Wheeljack was flat on his back on the berth and covered in assertive Spec Ops mech. Mirage burrowed against his neck. “Primus, Wheeljack, I missed you so much.”

 _Well, I guess we’re staying here for a while_. Not that he minded. “So did the mission go okay?”

“Exactly as planned. Jazz is pleased.” Mirage giggled. “Which means, I imagine, that right now Prowl is pleased as well.”

Wheeljack snorted. He didn’t really need those images in his head. “Good. I’m glad. That the mission went well, I mean. Not that Prowl is pleased. Although that’s good too, I guess.” He shook his head at Mirage’s laugh. “I’m just glad you’re back. I was worried.” His arms tightened around Mirage’s shoulders. “Constantly.”

“I was, too,” Mirage admitted, worming closer, and it felt like he was trying to crawl in underneath Wheeljack’s plating. “Which is new for me. I have never worried like that on a mission before.”

“Were you in danger?” Wheeljack frowned. He didn’t like the thought of that.

“No. It was a fairly easy mission. But I’ve…” He twisted until he was leaning on his elbow, looking down at Wheeljack’s face. “I’ve never had anyone waiting for me before. Not like this. And suddenly I was constantly thinking about what you would do if I didn’t come back. What I would do to protect you. What I would do to get back to you should the worst happen.” He leaned his forehead against Wheeljack’s mask. “It was very difficult to focus.”

Wheeljack lifted his hands to cradle Mirage’s face. “I don’t want you to lose focus on a mission, love. You’ll get hurt.”

Mirage’s head shot up. “Love?”

Wheeljack hesitated, then nodded. “Love.”

For a moment, Mirage just stared at him. Then he smiled beatifically, and suddenly his hands were roaming down Wheeljack’s sides, his lips were planting tiny kisses on Wheeljack’s mask and forehead, his entire frame was pressing against Wheeljack’s, and it was all Wheeljack could do to remember to vent.

Mirage’s plating was smooth, silky, warm under his hands, and the rising hum of his engine vibrated against Wheeljack’s chassis. The spy was clinging to him again, as if he could melt into Wheeljack if he just held on tightly enough. Elegant fingers ran down Wheeljack’s chest, dancing tentatively across the hardline cover in his side.

“We weren’t compromised on this mission,” Mirage murmured. “My processor’s clean. Would you… Would you connect with me?”

“Really?” Wheeljack turned his head to find Mirage’s optics. “You want that?”

Mirage looked away, worrying at his lower lip. “Yes. I want to feel you. I understand if you don’t want to. I know it’s not to everyone’s taste.”

Wheeljack didn’t reply. But his cover slid open.

Mirage’s fingers trembled as he touched the cable, gently sliding it free and unspooling it. His own cover slid aside as well. Wheeljack could feel the exact moment when his cable connected to Mirage’s port. And when Mirage unspooled his own cable, completing the connection…

~There you are.~ The feel of Mirage accompanied the first little identifying handshake, and he fell on Wheeljack’s plating with renewed vigor. ~I _really_ missed you.~

Wheeljack groaned as Mirage’s hands moved across his shoulders and found his winglets, stroking in from the edges until they reached the connectors. ~I’ve missed you as well. I haven’t been able to think.~ The datapackets exchanged along with the words helped drive his charge and temperature up, and in a fit of assertiveness he turned them both around, leaving Mirage on his back in the berth. The new position let Wheeljack straddle Mirage’s hips, feel the gorgeous frame steadily heating under his touches, the warmth focusing in the apex of Mirage’s thighs.

He didn’t focus too much on those pelvic covers. That was for another time.

And when Mirage grinned up at him, charge pulsing across the cables connecting them, Wheeljack didn’t need anything more.

~What are you thinking, dearspark?~

~You’re beautiful,~ Wheeljack blurted.

Mirage caught his hand, pressed it to his lips. ~As are you. Yes, you are. Don’t give me that look, you don’t see what I see.~ The connection was pulsing, Mirage almost barraging him with data.

~What do you see?~ Wheeljack fired data right back at him, his fingers tracing Mirage’s cheek struts and lips.

~I see this strong, gorgeous, warm, caring mech, who’s kind and gentle and fierce and protective, and who I’m beginning to realize -~ Mirage arched his back at a particularly strong pulse, and the return pulse would have sent Wheeljack to his knees if he hadn’t already been vertical. ~Primus, Wheeljack!~

Wheeljack bent to nuzzle Mirage’s throat, sending sharp little bursts of data across their connection. ~You may have already figured this out, but I want to tell you anyway.” He lifted up slightly, enough that he could look Mirage in the optics. ~I’m falling in love with you, Mirage.~

~Good.~ Mirage gasped and keened, pulling Wheeljack down and kissing every part of him he could reach. ~Because I’m beginning to realize that I don’t want to live without you.~

Wheeljack pushed himself up again, looking down at his spy. ~You haven’t even seen my face.~

Mirage touched his mask gently. ~I don’t need to. You’ve shown me everything that’s important.~

Wheeljack stared, and Mirage stared back until the air between them felt electric and the tension was almost unbearable.

~You don’t think it matters?~

Mirage raised a hand, his fingers resting against Wheeljack’s mask. ~It matters to you, clearly. But as far as I’m concerned, whatever you’re hiding under this mask, it doesn’t change how I feel.~

Wheeljack was seized by an almost irresistible impulse to detach his mask. He only managed to stop himself by focusing on the fact that he was still connected to Mirage, and not only would it physically hurt if the spy tore away from him and left, but he would be receiving Mirage’s shock and disgust over the connection. He couldn’t bear that.

Mirage seemed to be reading his mind, because his arms entwined behind Wheeljack’s neck and pulled him down to kiss him again. ~Someday, my darling, you’ll want to show me. And then I will prove to you that it doesn’t matter to me. But for now...~

Another relentless barrage of data shot across their connection, making Wheeljack arch and moan into Mirage’s touches. ~ _Primus._ ~

Mirage laughed, a silvery, soft sound that had Wheeljack’s spark aching for him. ~If you like. Though just Mirage is fine. Or ‘love’.~ He found Wheeljack’s back seams, delving into them with vigor. ~You can call me that as much as you want.~

The sheer intensity of their connection, the way Mirage was expertly stroking his sides, how his mouth was nipping at Wheeljack’s throat cables, was almost more than Wheeljack could process. He focused on sending the charged data back, optics locked on Mirage’s face as the spy moaned and trembled beneath him.

He was so slagging gorgeous.

“Please,” Mirage panted out loud. “Please, Wheeljack, I’m so close ---!”

Wheeljack grinned, the light shining off Mirage’s plating. “Your wish is my command, love.” Along with the last word, he sent over everything he had, the charge enough to make small arcs of lightning dance from his own frame to Mirage’s. The spy shouted, stiffening, and the return data sent Wheeljack spiraling into his own overload. He collapsed against Mirage’s chest, panting heavily.

As soon as he had some strength back in his frame, he shifted aside until he was cuddling Mirage instead of flattening him. Not that Mirage made it easy. The spy seemed determined not to let him go.

To not let any part of him go, actually. When Wheeljack moved to disconnect them, Mirage caught his hand. “Leave them?” Soft blue optics met Wheeljack’s own. “Ratchet wanted me to recharge, and now I think I can. And I can’t think of anything better than to have you right here when I do. I want you where I can feel you. Both in my mind and on my frame.”

“If you want to.” His hand moved back until it was resting on Mirage’s abdominal plating. “Rest, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

Ever again, probably. Not when Mirage looked at him like that, like Wheeljack was the best thing in the entire universe. He had this absurd urge to shelter and protect, even though he knew that the spy was far more deadly than he himself was. There was just something there that spoke to Wheeljack’s every instinct.

He nuzzled Mirage’s cheek. “Sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Mirage kept looking at him, optics dimming slowly, until his vents were slow and even and the feel of him over their connection was warm and muted. Only then did Wheeljack let himself slip into much-needed recharge.

He had his spy back.


	10. Chapter 10

*Wheeljack?*

The inventor groaned. *Slaggit Ratchet, do you know what time it is?*

*Sure I do.* Ratchet laughed. *Do you? Did I wake you, lovebird?*

Wheeljack checked his chrono. Midday. *Slagger.*

*Yeah, probably,* Ratchet agreed. *Listen, how are you two holding up?*

*We’ve been in recharge since last night,* Wheeljack replied, turning to see a very peaceful Mirage still recharging behind him. *Do I need to wake him for energon?*

*Nah, he’s not in dire straits. He was still very high-strung when he left here, though, how did you get him to relax and recharge so fast?*

Wheeljack could feel himself blushing. He knew Ratchet would tease him relentlessly now. *I guess we tired each other out?*

There was silence for a moment. Then Ratchet laughed. *That is about slagging time! You’ve been needing that for so long that I’m almost surprised your array hasn’t made the decision for you before now.*

*Arrays didn’t come into it,* Wheeljack defended himself. His cheeks were still burning, and he could see the embarrassed pink tinge to his helmfin lights. He was suddenly grateful Mirage was still out of it. *Just tactile and hardline.*

Ratchet was suddenly serious again. He even sounded a bit – impressed? No, that couldn’t be right. *He let you connect via hardline?*

*He asked for it,* Wheeljack replied. *Shouldn’t I have done that?*

*He wouldn’t have asked for it if he didn’t want it,* Ratchet said with conviction. *And there’s no medical reason why you shouldn’t, either. To be honest, I’m just surprised he let you. I have difficulties convincing him to even accept a medical hardline, and I know for a fact that the only one he lets work with his processor is Jazz. For him to let you in like that – well, he must really trust you.* His voice softened. *I think he really cares for you, ‘Jackie.*

*I love him,* Wheeljack said simply. He reached out, one finger hovering over Mirage’s cheek strut. The spy’s optics onlined, still dim, but brightening, and Wheeljack let his hand rest against Mirage’s face. He lifted the other hand to his own temple, indicating a comm call, and Mirage nodded.

*I know. But ‘Jackie…* Ratchet hesitated, before plunging on. *Do you trust him? Do you trust what you two have enough to entrust yourself to him? All of you?*

Mirage’s hand moved up to cover Wheeljack’s, and the spy smiled softly at him. Wheeljack’s spark spun happily in his chassis.

*Wheeljack,* Ratchet repeated. *Have you shown him yet?*

*…No,* Wheeljack admitted. His thumb caressed Mirage’s cheek strut, and those blue optics shone up at him with something close to adoration. *I haven’t.*

*You know you won’t be able to let go and trust him fully until you show him, Wheeljack,* Ratchet said quietly. *You need to take that chance.*

*I almost did yesterday while we were connected,* Wheeljack admitted. *But I couldn’t do it.*

*Well, during interface is probably not the best time,* Ratchet chuckled. “Sooner would be better than later, though.” He switched back into medic mode. *Let me know if you need anything, or if either of you have questions, all right?*

*Sure thing, Ratch’,* Wheeljack agreed. Mirage was kissing his palm now, and he really just wanted to give the spy all his attention. *Talk to you later.*

The line went quiet.

“Hey, you,” Mirage said, his voice soft. “What was wrong? You felt a bit upset.”

Wheeljack glanced down to where they were still connected. He’d forgotten all about that – the feeling of Mirage in the back of his mind, a calm, kind presence, just felt natural now.

“That was Ratchet,” he explained. “He wanted to hear how we were doing.”

Mirage kissed his palm again. “That’s not what made you upset.”

“No, it isn’t.” Wheeljack sighed. “Ratchet wants me to take my mask off.”

Mirage sat up, frowning. “I don’t like that he pressures you on this.”

“It’s not pressure, not like that,” Wheeljack disagreed. “He knows I still feel insecure and unsure, and that I won’t be able to trust what we have until I’ve shown you all of me.”

Mirage let go of his hand and cupped his cheek instead, putting their forehelms together. “If you want to show me, you can. But if you don’t, you don’t have to.” He kissed Wheeljack’s mask briefly and smiled. “That reminds me, I have something for you. But first I think we need to disconnect. As pleasant as it is to have you in my mind, we’ll be able to move more freely without this.”

Wheeljack nodded, reaching down when the spy did to disconnect his cable from Mirage’s port and coil it up. The loss was instant.

“What’s the surprise?” he asked, shifting around to sit as close to Mirage as he could get.

Mirage smiled. “I made you something.” He reached into his subspace, and pulled out a box. “I hope you don’t mind, but I talked to Ratchet about this before I made them. He said they may work better for you.” He handed the box over to Wheeljack. “I hope you like them.”

Wheeljack untied the ribbon around the thin silvery metal. When the lid came off, it revealed neat little rows of gelled energon.

“Candies!” Wheeljack grinned widely, the light of his helmfins bouncing off Mirage’s plating. “You made these for me? Seriously?”

Mirage nodded, snuggling in against Wheeljack’s side. “I thought they might be easier for you than the liquid energon. And they’re tastier, as well.” He pointed. “The square ones have either copper or cadmium shavings in them. The round ones have silver or mercury.”

Wheeljack itched to try one. “I haven’t had jellies since before we left Cybertron. This is amazing. Thank you.” He pressed his mask against the side of Mirage’s head in a mock-up kiss. “When did you have the chance to pick these up? Didn’t you come straight here from medbay yesterday?”

Mirage shrugged. Even that was an elegant motion, and Wheeljack let his hand trace a gorgeous dark shoulder. “The box has been sitting safely in my subspace for a while. I promise they still taste good. They keep for months if stored properly.”

Wheeljack stared at him. “You carried a box of candies in your subspace for weeks while infiltrating the Decepticon base?”

“Yes.” Mirage giggled. “I had the capacity to carry it, so Jazz didn’t object. It was a physical reminder that you were waiting for me. Plus,” and his grin turned mischievous, “if push had come to shove, I could have used it as an impromptu fire bomb. The round ones are made from high-grade, so they would have made a pretty distraction.”

Wheeljack couldn’t stop himself. He laughed out loud, leaning his head against Mirage’s. “Mirage, I love you. You’re amazing.”

That earned him a pleased squeak and two dark arms around his neck, Mirage nuzzling happily against his face. “You deserve everything, Wheeljack.”

He didn’t say that he loved him back, Wheeljack noticed. Not that he doubted that there were strong feelings involved, and that Mirage cared deeply for him.

But it made him doubt himself just a little more.

Mirage let him go and stood gracefully, walking towards the nightstand full of energon cubes. “I’d love to hear what you think of those when you’ve had a chance to try them,” he said lightly. “I can make you more if you like them.”

Wheeljack looked from the candies to Mirage’s dark back, Ratchet’s words ringing in his head.

_Aw, pit. Ratchet, you’re right as usual. And he deserves that I try._

_He deserves everything, too._

With a soft click, his facemask detached.

Mirage froze.

Wheeljack put his mask away, hands trembling slightly, and picked up one of the square candies.

It melted in his mouth, slowly, letting him close his mouth as much as possible around it and just enjoy the flavor. Not a drop escaped.

Mirage kept still, a frozen statue at the end of Wheeljack’s bed. Wheeljack couldn’t even tell if he was venting.

He swallowed the remnant of the candy. “These are delicious, love. And so much easier to eat.” He stood slowly, broadcasting his every move. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Mirage’s voice was almost inaudible. “Do you… Do you wish to put your mask back on?”

“Yes,” Wheeljack admitted. “But I’m not going to. Ratchet was right, love. I need to know you accept this part of me, or I won’t be able to trust what we have. And I really, really want to trust this.”

Tentatively, nervously, oh so carefully, he reached out and touched Mirage’s hand. “If you don’t want to look at me, I understand. But I’m asking you to try.”

Primus, his spark was pulsating madly. If Mirage left now –

No, he refused to even consider it. He wouldn’t think beyond this moment.

He couldn’t bear thinking beyond this moment.

Mirage took his hand, and started turning around. The movement was infitesimally slow, almost glacial, and it took more than a full minute before he had turned enough to face Wheeljack. Even then, he was looking down. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Wheeljack sighed. “I need to know that my scars won’t be standing between us anymore, ‘Raj. Regardless of the consequences.”

“I’ve told you before,” Mirage said, and it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Wheeljack, “that this doesn’t matter to me.” He chuckled. “I guess we’ll get to put that to the test now, won’t we?” He in-vented deeply. Then he lifted his head and let his optics focus on Wheeljack’s face.

Wheeljack held still, bearing the scrutiny. Mirage’s wide optics trailed over his jaw, across the pitted metal of his cheeks, his ruined upper lip, the large open gap splitting his chin.

For a few moments, no one said anything. Wheeljack’s spark was pulsating hard enough for it to hurt.

After what seemed like an eternity, Mirage lifted a trembling hand towards Wheeljack’s face. “May I…?”

“Yes,” Wheeljack murmured. “As much as you need to.”

Cool, gentle fingers traced his jaw, from one helmfin to the other. Mirage touched his cheek, fingertips stroking the ruined metal, before gently ghosting across his lump of a nasal ridge.

He left the lips for last. By then Wheeljack’s eyes were dimming, his sensors almost overwhelmed by the pleasant touch to an area that never did anything but ache. When Mirage’s fingers met Wheeljack’s lips, the inventor shuddered.

Mirage paused. “Bad?”

Wheeljack didn’t dare look at him. Instead, he let his optics offline. “No. Please don’t stop.”

The fingers traced his lower lip next, moving over the soft metal of intact lip plates and the broken surfaces of his scars with equal care.

When the entirety of his lower face had been explored and mapped, Mirage stopped. “All right,” he said softly. “I’ve decided. Will you look at me?”

Reluctantly, afraid, Wheeljack did as he asked. Mirage’s blue optics met his. To Wheeljack’s surprise, there was no trace of disgust or abhorrence anywhere.

“I was right,” Mirage continued, his voice still that soft tone. “This doesn’t matter to me. This won’t make me give up on us. And I want to promise you something.” His hand came back up, resting against Wheeljack’s cheek. “I won’t ask Ratchet to fix you. I won’t tell you to put your mask on if you prefer it off.” He moved forward, leaning in until his forehead was resting against Wheeljack’s. “This won’t make a difference for us.”

Wheeljack barely heard what Mirage said. There was a hissing in his audials, his spark was almost vibrating. This couldn’t be real, could it?

Could it?

“Wheeljack,” Mirage prompted, meeting his optics again. “Can I try something?”

 

“Wheeljack.” Mirage needed his lover to look at him again. This felt like standing at the edge of a precipice. Wheeljack was putting up a brave front, but if Mirage had been a betting mech he would have put his credits on the mech before him being terrified. And Mirage really, really wanted to prove to him that that fear was groundless. “Can I try something?”

Wheeljack nodded, eyes still wide, ruined jaw tense.

Mirage let his hands rest against Wheeljack’s cheeks again. There was a softness to the ruined metal, like every hard edge of Wheeljack’s face had been burned away, leaving only fuzzy smoothness behind.

It was actually pleasant to touch. Not that Wheeljack would believe him if he said so right now.

“This doesn’t matter.” He would keep saying that until Wheeljack believed him. “I can still see you in there.”

It was unbearably sappy, but it worked. Wheeljack relaxed infitesimally. And that was a good thing, considering that what Mirage was planning to do next would probably make him tense again.

The upper lip had less damage than the lower. So that was the one Mirage pressed his own lips to.

Wheeljack made a noise that could only be described as a squeak, and Mirage let him pull away slightly.

“You – you can’t,” Wheeljack sputtered. “I don’t – that’s – they’re ugly!”

Mirage couldn’t deny that. Still, it wasn’t the whole truth. “But _you’re_ not,” he replied, taking care to keep his tone gentle. “Someone taught you that these negate your worth. That’s simply not true. You’re so much more than your scars, dearest.” His fingers rubbed tiny circles over Wheeljack’s cheeks.

“You’re really okay with this.” Wheeljack’s voice was full of wonder.

“I really am,” Mirage confirmed. “I’m not running, Wheeljack.” He let his mouth meet his lover’s again, suckling lightly at the part that was intact. “You, my darling, are stuck with me.”

Wheeljack groaned, throwing his arms around Mirage and pulling him closer. “You’re really not scared off…!”

There it was. There was the hesitant elation he had been hoping for.

Wheeljack pushed his face in against Mirage’s neck, a suspicious wetness on his cheeks. He was clinging to him now, as if Mirage was the only thing keeping him upright, and Mirage decided to back them both towards the berth. He didn’t quite trust himself to be strong enough to hold the inventor up if he collapsed.

Wheeljack dumped down on the berth gracelessly, pulling Mirage down with him. “I love you,” he murmured, pushing his bare face against Mirage’s plating. “Primus, Mirage, I love you.”

Mirage’s spark thrilled to the words. They were so much more than he deserved.

 

They ended up lying next to each other with their legs intertwined. Wheeljack kept his mask off and his optics on Mirage, chewing obediently on each candy Mirage slipped into his mouth.

“I believe I must make more of these,” he jested, smiling as Wheeljack’s grin stretched on his ruined lips. “Did you know that you have dimples when you smile like that?”

“I do?” Wheeljack’s fingers rose to his pitted cheek. “Huh. I do.”

“You really didn’t know?”

Wheeljack took his hand, kissing each finger. “Haven’t had much cause to smile without my mask on.”

Mirage smiled. “Well, I aim to change that.”

“You already are.” Wheeljack looked up at him, a wry question in his optics. “Hey, Mirage. Can I try something?”

When Mirage nodded, smiling at his words echoed back at him, Wheeljack took the box of candies and put it aside. Then he placed a hand on Mirage’s neck and pulled him down.

Mirage expected a kiss. But instead, Wheeljack nuzzled down the line of his jaw towards his throat cables. Then warm suction encased his main energon cable, and Mirage gasped.

“Well, what do you know,” Wheeljack murmured. “Turns out my mouth is still good for something.”

“Primus!” Mirage gasped as his throat was nipped and bitten, a smooth glossa soothing the sting. “I’ll say!”

Wheeljack laughed, making Mirage’s entire frame tingle. He didn’t object when the inventor pushed him onto his back, his mouth moving down to lick across Mirage’s chest. His fans clicked on.

Before he let himself surrender to the touches, Mirage opened a comm channel to Ratchet.

*Mirage? Something wrong?*

*Not at all,* Mirage replied, suppressing a gasp as Wheeljack’s fingers teased into his seams. *I just wanted to tell you that the gelled candies worked.*

*That’s good,* Ratchet said in clear relief. *I’m glad. Did he show you?*

*He did,* Mirage confirmed. He grinned, a hint of the playfulness that had heralded so many pranks back in the Towers coming over him. He let his breathlessness slip into his tone. *And I’m not disappointed. Wheeljack’s mouth may be ugly, but he definitely knows how to use it.*

Silence greeted his statement, and then Ratchet laughed. *Good for you. Consider that all the details I’ll ever need. Enjoy yourselves. Ratchet out.*

_Oh, I aim to._ Mirage met Wheeljack’s insistent mouth with his own and lost himself in his lover.

 

The Autobots of the _Ark_ , it turned out, could get used to anything. It just took time.

The first time Mirage smiled as he entered the rec room, people stared at him. Even more when he walked over to where Wheeljack was sitting and kissed his mask. (Wheeljack still wouldn’t take that off in public. He probably never would. And Mirage was okay with that.)

The first time Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had sat down with him to refuel had caused some stares as well. The twins didn’t care, though, and Mirage soon learned that Sunstreaker’s wit was as dry and cutting as his own could be, and that Sideswipe’s skills with energon did indeed rival what the Towers had produced.

He counted them among his friends now.

Wheeljack was happy as well. He walked with more confidence, had more faith in his own skills and authority. It had taken him some time to relax properly with his mask off, but now he took it off as soon as he entered their shared quarters.

Those had also taken him a while to grasp. Mirage had moved all his things in and actually lived in Wheeljack’s room for a while before the inventor had finally looked up one day, taken in the crowded space and immediately sent off a request to Prowl for larger quarters. They’d moved in the week after.

Life was good.

“What are you thinking of?” Wheeljack asked lazily. His presence in Mirage’s mind was calm, content, happy.

Mirage turned, taking care not to stretch their cables too much. “I’m thinking about how lucky I am. To have found you.”

“That goes both ways.” Wheeljack grinned, the dimples in his cheeks showing.

Mirage adored those dimples.

“So you’re happy?” Wheeljack asked, nuzzling Mirage’s cheek.

“I am very happy,” Mirage confirmed, turning to kiss him and sending tiny little datapackets across their connection. “I don’t think I could be happier.” He smiled against Wheeljack’s mouth. “I love you, Wheeljack.”

“Well, that’s good,” Wheeljack replied lightly, as if it wasn’t the very first time Mirage had said those words. “Because I’m not going anywhere.” He licked Mirage’s helm vent, clever glossa dipping in between the slats. “When is your next shift?”

“Not until tomorrow.” And Mirage owed Jazz a favor for that. “Gives us plenty of time.”

“Gives us all the time in the world.” Wheeljack kissed him again. “Love you, ‘Raj.”

All the time in the world. Mirage liked the sound of that.

It sounded just right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that, dear readers. Thank you so much for taking this angsty fluffy journey with me :) You're awesome ^^


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